And Throw Away the Key
by MrsTater
Summary: Natasha and Bruce have hung up their superhero capes and are making a home together. When a new enemy brings them out of retirement, the real threat to their future is Bruce's own past. Natasha knows the key to controlling the Hulk lies hidden behind the doors of his childhood. The problem is how to find it, when it's locked away as as his father.
1. Prologue: General Delivery

_**A/N: After a brief hiatus to participate in NaNoWriMo, I return with a new WIP! I got the idea to explore Bruce's past when I was still working on**_ **Sun's Getting Low _, and I've been very excited to have a chance to properly plan, write, and now post it. Given the nature of Bruce's backstory, this will necessarily be a darker fic than_ SGL, _though I'll try to balance that with Bruce x Natasha established relationship goodness. As with_ SGL _,_ _I'll keep my tradition of posting new chapters on Sundays._ **

**_Many thanks to my fellow BruceNat author Katla, without whose encouragement and enthusiasm I probably wouldn't have attempted anything like this, and especially to Malintzin, my beta reader and partner in crime in the Marvel fandom. Without further ado..._**

* * *

 **Prologue: General Delivery**

 **2015**

He was a sight for sore eyes, but Natasha certainly wasn't going to tell him that. There'd be no living with him, and there barely was now. Not that he was currently living with the Avengers.

"You're making house calls now, Stark?" she said, standing in the doorway of the control room, where she found him at the central computer after Vision informed her he was in the Facility.

"Somebody called about a tiny security problem?" Tony said by way of reply. "And I mean literally microscopic. As in, _Honey, I Shrunk the Kids_."

The _somebody_ he referred to was her, after the news broke about the super-powered, but not super-sized, struggle at Pym Tech, in light of which Wilson's rooftop shenanigans suddenly made perfect sense.

"I appreciate you getting here so quickly." Natasha stepped further into the dimly-lit room and watched the lines of code reflected in his dark eyes. "Unlike the cable company."

She hadn't actually asked Stark to come. In fact she'd only as gotten as far as, " _We had a security breech_ ," before he replied, _"On it,"_ and hung up on her.

"Giving people six-hour windows when I might show up…not really my style."

"I waited for you for _at least_ six hours when I was your PA."

"Well, as Pepper has been known to say, I'm worth waiting for."

" _Has_ Pepper been known to say that?"

Ignoring the question, Tony stared at the computer screen with a laser focus, fingers rattling across the keyboard. Abruptly he stopped, leaned back in the swivel chair, and looked up at her.

"New Avengers Facility security protocols updated. You're welcome."

"Thanks. But couldn't you have done that remotely, rather than drive all the way upstate?"

"Romanoff, you woundme." He clasped a hand over the lapel of his sport coat. "Didn't it occur to you that maybe I just thought all of you wanted to see my face? I haven't stopped by in months."

"We've seen your face a lot lately."

Tony had been on almost every news outlet in the world since Sokovia, defending Bruce's innocence in the destruction of Johannesburg. His expression shifted, as infinitesimally as the new kind of heroes and villains they were up against. She swallowed painfully. It wasn't just Bruce he was talking about, but the Accords the World Security Council was proposing to keep powered individuals accountable.

"So how's retirement treating you?" Natasha asked. "Is it the lighting in here, or do you look way tanner on TV?"

He can't have been spending as much time in Malibu as he boasted about back when he announced he was hanging up the cape, so to speak. Not that this was in the least surprising.

Scowling, Tony replied, "That makeup makes me look like an Oompa-Loompa, doesn't it? But hey, at least I still don't look as stupid as Falcon while Ant-Man led him on a merry mini chase."

He leaned forward and typed again, swiveling the monitor so Natasha could see that he'd pulled up the security footage.

"I was on the other end of the comms," she said, unable to repress a smirk, "and giving Wilson hell about it."

"I'd expect nothing less from you. Speaking of which." Tony paused the video and looked to Natasha again. "What would you think of being less?"

Natasha crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow.

"My dad and SHIELD tried to replicate Pym's shrinking tech back in the '80s," Tony explained. "I'm sure it's nothing I couldn't crack."

"Are you asking me if I want a shrinking suit?"

" _Itsy Bitsy Spider_ has a less harmful ring to it than _Black Widow_ , don't you think?"

"Harmless isn't exactly what you want to go for in my line of work."

"Your line of work doesn't exactly have a great reputation right now." The springs of the chair squeaked as Tony stood.

Not an unfair point. Natasha conceded it with a shrug.

"All I'm saying is," he went on, "maybe with the Sokovia Accords we need to change our public image. That, and if Hydra wants to get their tentacles on shrinking tech, they're not going to let a burglar stop them."

"So you want to develop more for them to possibly get their tentacles on?"

Tony _hmphed_ and folded his arms cross his chest.

"Come on, Tony, you've come out in full support of the Accords. You're not honestly dicking around with new tech, are you?"

" _Honestly_ ," he ground out, "I can hardly walk past the lab, let alone go in it."

He'd been vulnerable with her before, but this time she didn't have it in her to be gentle with his feelings. Maybe it was because she'd kept hers under such careful restraint since the day Cap caught her brooding, that seeing Tony wearing his heart on his sleeve was too much.

"Is that why you're here?" she snapped. "Because being around me might help you feel closer to him?"

"Right, when your little push him down a cistern and force him to transform stunt is part of the reason he ran off?" Tony reached into the inner pocket of his sport coat and pulled out a stack of envelopes. "I came to show you these." He thrust them at her as he stepped around her to shut the control room door. "Although maybe that was a mistake."

For a moment, Natasha's carefully honed observation skills eluded her as she stared down at letters in her hands, the familiar neat, precise handwriting that spelled out _Bruce Banner_.

 _"He'll send you a postcard_ , _"_ Nick Fury's voice resonated in her head, and she looked up at Tony as he stepped back into her line of sight. Bruce wrote to him?

Her brain kicked into gear before she asked the stupid question aloud. Bruce was the addressee. Her heart resumed beating, only to stop again when she read the sender's name:

 _Brian Banner, Inmate #968121_

 _Lima State Hospital_

 _3200 North West Street_

 _Lima, OH 45801_

It was postmarked just two days ago. She flicked through the stack of envelopes, all addressed to Bruce at the Avengers Tower, all from his father, scanning the dates.

"When did these start-?"

"After Johannesburg. So, I can only assume Bruce's dear old dad watched the news in the criminally psych ward and decided to write and, I don't know? Congratulate him on continuing the family legacy?"

"What do you know about Brian Banner?"

"Not a damn thing, until these started arriving. Then I googled. All the best scientists have daddy issues?"

Tony's answer came as a relief, though Natasha hated herself a little bit for being jealous of the alternative. Opening up to someone, her or not, would do Bruce a world of good.

"Some more than others," she replied.

"No wonder he wasn't interested in playing therapist for me."

Natasha watched her thumb slide over the sharp edge of the unopened envelope. "I'm surprised you didn't read them," she said.

"This, from the spy," Tony retorted, then, "Do you think we should?"

"No."

"But what if there's something in there that might help us find him?"

"There won't be. As far as I know, Bruce has had no contact with his father since he went to prison. I'm not about to break his trust any further by violating his privacy."

It was bad enough that everything she knew about Bruce's family history had come from his SHIELD files, and not from him, which she regretted. His trust was such a tenuous thing that she'd never wanted to press her luck by asking him for more than he was willing to offer, although she'd suspected strongly that knowing more about it would give her a better idea into help him with his control.

Tony let out a heavy sigh. "Fine. But if we're not going to read them, what _are_ we going to do with them? I can't keep them, because one of these days my curiosity will get the better of me, and it won't be my dicking around with tech that violates the Accords."

"Have the rest of Bruce's mail forwarded here-"

"But I read his _Scientific American_!"

"-and I'll keep them all. Bruce can decide what he wants to do with them…when he comes back."

Tony looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. "Until the prodigal son returns."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Luckily for you, readers, unlike Natasha and Tony, you'll only have to wait a week for Bruce. ;) Until then, I hope you'll let me know what you thought of this start!**_


	2. Chapter 1: You've Got Mail

_**A/N: Thank you all for your reception of the first installment last week! Bruce is actually in this one, and it inspired my alternate title for this fic, "Domestic Dumb-Dumbs with Daddy Issues." Although it's heavy on the DDD part and not so much on the DI. For now. ;) As always, much thanks to my beta-reader, malintzin.**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

* * *

 **1\. You've Got Mail**

 _ **November, 2020**_

The drive home from campus was short enough that the car had only just warmed up by the time Bruce pulled up to the curb and rolled down the window. Shivering at the sudden blast of crisp, cold air, he reached out to open the mailbox, leaning lightly into the horn in his haste, the _honk s_ hattering the silence of the suburban dusk and briefly distracting him from the contents of the mailbox. Or rather, the lack thereof.

He sat back in the seat, gloved hands grasping the steering wheel as he breathed his heart back to its resting tempo, puffs of steam clouding in the air. There were plenty of reasons for the mailbox to be empty: the postman might be late, or Natasha might've gotten it already. He didn't need to get all Charlie Brown about it. Yet.

Especially when the letter they were waiting for might bring more disappointment than no mail at all.

Rolling the window back up again, he pulled the car into the long driveway, scarcely believing as he gazed up through the trees, mostly bare now except for a handful of tenacious golden leaves quivering in the autumn wind as they clung to their branches, that the grey brick split-level house tucked into the wooded hillside belonged to him. Well-to him and Natasha. The garage door lifted to reveal her car parked in the empty space.

Bruce parked next to it, hurried to the door, but had to dart back again for his leather laptop bag forgotten in the front passenger seat. In the mud room, the aroma of the chicken tikka masala he'd started in the slow cooker that morning before classes greeted him from the adjoining kitchen.

"Tasha, I'm home!" he called out, less Desi Arnaz than Dick van Dyke as he stumbled in the process of toeing off his shoes, though in fact he and Natasha had attended their neighborhood Halloween block party as the _I Love Lucy_ stars.

"Welcome home, Dr. Banner," intoned a British-accented baritone from an overhead speaker. "Ms. Romanoff is down in the gym. Shall I let her know you've arrived?"

Tony's housewarming gift to them had been-in his words- _a domestic_. In true Tony fashion, he'd given them a number of choices for their AI butler's personality: Alfred from _Batman_ , Carson from _Downton Abbey_ , Cogsworth from _Beauty and the Beast_ in case certain hopes panned out and the house one day heard the patter of little Hulk or Widow feet (though hopefully not eight in the case of the latter), and to be an equal opportunity employer, the creepy Mrs. Danvers from _Rebecca_.

"Thanks, JEEVES," Bruce replied, unwinding his scarf and hanging it up with his overcoat, "just put her on intercom."

"Very good, sir."

As he padded in his sock feet into the kitchen, Natasha's voice came over the speakers. "Hey, Big Guy," she panted. "Just finishing up a run. Give me ten?"

"Take your time," he replied around a mouthful of almonds he grabbed from the pantry when he went for the basmati rice.

Natasha didn't normally work out this time of day; she was a hit the ground running type-literally. When she was stressed out, she could be found in the gym at random.

He swallowed, the nuts sticking in his throat, and tried-unsuccessfully-not to glance at the granite bar top as he turned to take the rice to the counter.

A neat stack of envelopes lay on it.

If Natasha had brought the mail in and then needed to run, it could only mean…

Swallowing again, Bruce deliberately looked away from the bar, rolled up his sleeves, and got on with his dinner prep.

He stood at the sink rinsing the rice, back to the doorway, but he saw her reflection in the window overlooking Cayuga Lake even though she crept up without a sound.

"Good run?" He set the bowl in the sink and wiped his hands on a dishtowel as he faced her, even though they weren't wet.

"Yeah, not bad," Natasha replied, in a breathless way that told him the run wasn't really of the utmost concern at the moment.

Nodding, Bruce went to her.

"I'm gross," she warned as his hand skimmed her hip.

He looked her over, in her black sports bra and form-fitting capris, face flushed and pulled-back hair darkened at the roots from her sweat.

"Sweetheart, if _this_ is post-workout gross, there's no hope for the rest of us."

He slid his hand into the slick small of her back to pull her hips snug against his, and pressed his lips to hers. Natasha made a soft sighing sound and tangled her fingers in his hair. This wasn't her usual welcome home kiss. She opened to him, clung to him, and Bruce had a sense that she was seeking reassurance. Or maybe he was projecting. He splayed his fingers across her bared midriff, sliding them between the notches of her ribcage and spine, loving how perfectly their bodies seemed to fit together.

Even after the kiss ended Natasha didn't withdraw, lingered in the circle of his arms, looking up at him. Her fingers did leave his hair, to trail along his jawline, and he pressed his cheek into her touch.

"You're going back to this, then, huh?"

Bruce's brows pulled together as he didn't at first know what she was talking about, then he heard the sandpaper whisper of his beard against the pads of her fingers.

"Oh." He brought one hand up from her waist to rub his chin. He'd shaved the beard off for Halloween, but hadn't maintained the clean-shaven look. "I hadn't really thought about it, I just keep staying in bed too long to have time to shave."

Her eyes glinting mischievously at him, she disentangled herself from his embrace, sidestepped him to go to the counter and lift the lid from the crock pot.

"I think maybe it makes me look more professorly." And less Hulk-like. "It is No-Shave November. Why? Do you not like it?"

"I like it." Natasha inhaled the tikki masala, which Bruce had to admit was making his stomach rumble, then gave it a stir. "I'm sure your female students do, too. And a few of the males."

A chuckle rattled dryly in Bruce's throat, and a flush prickled up his neck and across his cheekbones, but both stopped when she added:

"Might give a kid beard burn, though."

She glanced back over her shoulder, grin fading as their eyes held.

"Did you see the mail?" Her voice cracked on the upward lilt of the question.

"I didn't look, but I guessed…We got our letter?"

"Go look."

Natasha turned back to the slow cooker and stirred it again. Bruce obeyed automatically, his legs carrying him to the bar and the stack of mail without his brain commanding them to. He had that breathless, heart-pounding, nauseated feeling he remembered from many years ago, when he'd checked the mail anxiously for college acceptance letters.

With trembling hands, he picked up the top envelope.

"It's from my Aunt Susan."

Normally this would be a source of excitement, which occurred a couple times a year. He couldn't be sure when it would; Susan never did anything as predictable as write on his birthday or Christmas, but she was a wonderful letter-writer, in the old-fashioned sense, and would write randomly if she'd tried a new recipe he would like or had a music recommendation.

Today, though, Bruce heard the flatness of his own voice. He held the envelope up in Natasha's direction, as if for explanation. Had they miscommunicated about what they expected in the mail? Had she intentionally misled him? Immediately Bruce discarded the thought. Clearly he'd lived with Tony too long if he even considered Natasha would joke about something like this.

Without facing him, she replaced the slow cooker lid and placed the ladle on the stainless steel spoon rest beside it. "Underneath."

Bruce looked again. Sure enough, his eyes rested on return address they'd alternately anticipated and dreaded for weeks:

 _New York State Office of Children and Family Services_

He placed Aunt Susan's letter on the bar and picked up the other envelope.

"Should I…? Do you want to…?"

"Open it."

Natasha faced him now, leaning back against the counter, arms flexed as she gripped the edges with white-knuckled hands.

Bruce ripped it open messily, tearing part of the letter itself. The envelope fluttered to the stone tile floor as he drew out the single-page typed letter and unfolded it. Before he read, he looked up at Natasha, whose eyes were riveted to the backside of the stationery, and heaved out a tremulous breath.

" _Dear Dr. Banner and Ms. Romanoff,_

 _It is my pleasure to inform you that your application for adoption in the State of New York has been-"_

All at once the meaning of the syllables registered in his brain, and he didn't even have to read further.

 _Pleasure to inform you._

"Accepted!" He looked up at Natasha. "Accepted, they accepted us!"

"Yeah, to begin the home study."

Bruce crossed the few feet of kitchen to her and wrapped his arms around her again, brushing his lips across her forehead before he drew her against him in a tight hug. "Honestly I never thought we'd make it this far."

"That's not the impression you gave when you agreed to buy this five bedroom house in the suburbs with me," Natasha replied, dryly. With a squeeze of his waist she tucked her head beneath his chin and added, quieter, "Neither did I."

Bruce knew she didn't mean she'd doubted because of him any more than he'd doubted because of her. On paper, neither of them looked fit to parent at all, never mind not living up to some ambiguous ideal. When they agreed to finally take the plunge and apply to adopt, they'd promised each other that when those moments of doubt inevitably came, they would never be talking about the other. Though they also promised they would do their best to keep those moments to a minimum, to be positive and have hope, to believe in themselves as they believed in each other.

Several minutes passed in silence as they hugged, swaying slightly, in the middle of the kitchen, but finally, his happiness bubbled out.

"They accepted us!"

* * *

Natasha emerged from the bathroom to find Bruce reading in bed, as she did every night. He appeared totally engrossed by his book-an actual book, from the campus library, no less-rubbing his fingers across his beard in an absent gesture, not looking up at her even when she untied the belt of her robe and shrugged it off her shoulders. She'd be a little miffed if she were seriously trying to seduce him, but she was used to his scientist's focus making him a tough nut to crack. Plus, he more than made up for it by applying that same concentration to her, once she finally did capture his attention.

Tonight she had a pretty good idea that it wasn't the book that absorbed him. Her first clue was that he'd been on the same page whole time she'd been watching him; Bruce read at the speed of light, and _The Martian_ was a page-turner. She didn't need a second clue beyond her own experience with Bruce when faced with major life changes.

"Where are you in that?" she finally broke the silence as she hung her robe on the knob of the dresser. "Is Mark Watney sciencing the shit out of stuff?"

Bruce didn't acknowledge she'd spoken, and remained seemingly aware of her presence at all till she'd slipped beneath the covers with him and put her feet on his shins where his PJ bottoms rode up. Then he jolted, whacking himself in the face with his book, the rewarding reaction that made her keep doing this to him. It never got old. Neither did the dorky joke he normally made at this point about how her feet were so cold he couldn't believe she was really human, or really alive, and she'd respond in similar fashion about being Russian.

Tonight, though, he just rested the book on his chest, spine up to keep his place, blinked at her behind his glasses, and said, "Sorry. Did you say something?"

"I asked what you're brooding about. The home study?"

"No, actually." Bruce shifted to put his book on the nightstand, placing his glasses on top of it, then rolled onto his side facing her, arm curled under his pillow. "I was thinking about Aunt Susan's letter."

They'd both read it, but the next steps of the adoption process dominated their conversation over dinner. After the meal, they'd been too busy celebrating getting over the first hurdle to talk about anything at all. It was a sign of how far he'd come since the first tentative beginnings of a relationship that Bruce could actually be preoccupied with something other than his fitness as a parent in the face of potential fatherhood.

"About spending Christmas in Dayton?"

"Mm."

"Could be fun."

"It could…Or it could be really awkward. It's been…" Bruce scratched his chin. "…a long time."

Natasha knew he hadn't seen his aunt since the accident, although Susan contacted him after the Battle of New York and they'd stayed in touch with a sporadic regularity in the years since.

"Is this the first time she's asked you to visit?" she asked.

The pillow rustled with the shake of his head. "There was one other time." His gaze followed the path of his hand as he lowered it to rest on the mattress between them, watching his index finger trace the line of the sateen stripe of the sheet. "Right before we found the scepter."

Natasha puffed out a laugh. Getting the scepter back from Hydra was supposed to have been the end of an era, and it had been-just not in the way any of them wanted. Once upon a time she'd blamed Bruce and Tony for that, although not as vehemently as Rogers; as flawed as their rational was, she did understand they'd had the best of intentions. Now, she saw that Ultron had only accelerated the inevitable.

"Feel guilty about standing her up for space travel?" she asked, curling her hand over his. When his gaze met hers, she went on, "Is that why you think it might be awkward? Because the way I see it, you'll at least have plenty of stories to tell over dinner."

The creases at the corners of his eyes deepened with his wry grin. "Nothing says family at Christmastime like hearing how your nephew almost helped bring about the end of Asgard."

"Sounds like one of those holiday movies packed with celebrities."

" _Meet the Banners_." Bruce's smile faded. "Honestly, though. All Aunt Susan's seen of me for the past fifteen years is footage of the Other Guy terrorizing Harlem, Johannesburg…Perpetuating the family's cycle of violence."

His voice tightened around the words. Beneath her palm, Natasha felt the tendons of his hand flex. She stroked her fingers over it, working them into the valleys between his knuckles, and he exhaled, long and slow.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to get morose."

"It's okay."

Natasha could count on one hand the number of times he'd talked about his father's abuse, so that she considered even an oblique reference like that a big step in opening up. She was intrigued by the way he'd described it as a family cycle. Did it go back further than Brian Banner?

"Obviously your aunt's not worried about the Other Guy rampaging through Dayton. Or you never know, maybe she hates Dayton and hopes he will." That coaxed the smile back, albeit only faintly. She snuggled closer to him, slipping her knee between his legs, and he drew her hand against his chest, his skin warm and the wiry hairs tickling. "She asked _you,_ Bruce."

"Do you really think it could be fun?" His voice remained tight, although now she thought with restrained hopefulness. It was the same cautious tone she'd heard often when they first began to discuss adoption. "You wouldn't mind going to Aunt Susan's for Christmas? Only it's our first year in the new place…She'd understand if we want to celebrate at home."

As he looked into her eyes, the slightly dopey grin that always crossed on his face whenever he spoke about their home appeared. Natasha felt herself mirroring the expression, as she always did whenever he got sentimental about their life together. She tried not to let it distract her from the fact that he was making excuses to withdraw.

"We could always invite her here," she suggested.

Bruce's brow furrowed as he considered this. "She's over seventy…I don't think she travels much these days."

"Then let's go to her place. I want to meet her, and we'll have other first Christmases before long."

His fingers tightened around hers. "God, I hope so."

"I've never had a guy take me to meet his family, you know," Natasha said, lowering her voice and sliding her foot over the back of his calf. "I'm starting to worry maybe I'm not that kind of girl you bring home to meet your aunt."

"Don't ever think that."

She'd been joking, but the sincerity of Bruce's reply made her heart clench. He brought her hand up to his lips, dropping kisses over her knuckles.

"You are," he murmured, "you definitely are."

There was no response Natasha could make other than to kiss him, which she did, love surging through her. Bruce's soft lips yielded to her at first, then he wrapped both arms around her, matching her passion even though they'd spent a long time doing this earlier. She wasn't sure how long this kiss lasted, and it didn't lead to more like the other, but when it did end, trailing away into light kisses on cheeks and chins and shoulders as they lay holding each other, she felt the bone-deep contentment of knowing that wherever she was, in this house, or in his aunt's in Ohio or in the Avengers Tower or any other place on earth, as long as she was _here_ , she was home.

She felt the prickle of his beard in the crook of her neck, the rumble of his voice in her chest as he spoke.

"I guess if we want to start a family, the family we have would be a good place to start."

Natasha replied, "Spoken like a true genius."


	3. Chapter 2: Meet the Banners

_**A/N: I continue to be so grateful for your kind and supportive words about this story! This week, I'm very excited to introduce you to Aunt Susan, who is a character from the comics, but this is my own take on her. My fancast for the role is Susan Sarandon. Hope you enjoy this first glimpse into Bruce's childhood, and that you'll let me know what you think! Thanks, as always, to my beta malintzin. (And if you're an Agents of SHIELD fan, especially a Phil Coulson fan, check out our latest co-authored endeavor,**_ **What's Missing Is What Hurts the Most** _ **. We have big plans for the winter hiatus!)**_

* * *

 **2\. Meet the Banners**

"Oh my God, Bruce!" said Aunt Susan from the doorstep of her red brick Foursquare house as he and Natasha came up the front walk, the cab that brought them from the airport sloshing through puddles of melted snow as it pulled away from the curb.

"Aunt Susan." He glanced back over his shoulder as the wheels of the suitcase he was pulling caught on an uneven part of the sidewalk. Natasha gave him a small reassuring smile before he proceeded toward his aunt, pace quickening, along with his pulse. "I feel the same way. It's incredible to see you."

Why hadn't he sooner? He let go of the suitcase as she stepped down to the bottom of the porch, arms extended. Instead of hug him, however, she touched his face, stroking his beard, and he understood the reason for her look of round-eyed amazement.

"You're so _grey._ "

Bruce gaped at her. Behind him, Natasha snorted.

"And you're…not." He tugged at his shaggy hair in back as he took in Aunt Susan's, as vivid red at seventy as it had been in her fifties. God, he was almost the age she'd been the last time he saw her…Older than she'd been when he lived with her…

Her hand slid down from his cheek to rest on his shoulder, pulling him in for the hug he'd expected before. He felt her smooth cheek against his, and though she was going to kiss him, but again she surprised him by murmuring close to his ear:

"Bruce, dear, that's the wonder of a good hairstylist. You scientists aren't the only ones working to defy the ravages of time, you know. You keep your super serums. I'll stick to my salon products."

"Amen," said Natasha.

Susan pressed her lips to his cheek, then drew back, sidestepping him. She put on her glasses, which dangled from a chain around her neck; the tendency to lose glasses was a genetic predisposition.

"So this is the erstwhile Black Widow."

Struggling to get the suitcase up the steps and avoid the icy patches at the edges, Bruce winced-he'd almost forgotten how blunt his aunt was-and shot Natasha a look of apology. But of course she looked as unruffled as always, her pursed lips quirking upward at once side.

" _Erstwhile_. I like that. Most people go with _infamous_."

"It's the right word for a retired Avenger, isn't it?"

"Does that make Bruce the Erstwhile Hulk now?" Natasha asked, apparently deciding to acknowledge the elephant in the front yard right away and get it over with.

Aunt Susan laughed and looked back at Bruce. "Oh, I like her." But when she faced Natasha again, her smile fell as she eyed her extended hand. "I was going to hug you, but if that's too presumptuous, we can shake hands instead."

"Definitely not too presumptuous," said Natasha, lowering her hand and returning the hearty embrace.

"Welcome, Natasha."

Bruce's own self-consciousness dissipated as she met his eye over Susan's shoulder and he saw how relieved and pleased she looked to have his Aunt's approval right off the bat. She'd never admit it, but he knew she'd been nervous about this, despite his best efforts to reassure her she didn't need to be. Certainly he empathized with self-doubt.

"Why are we all standing around out here in the cold?" Susan released Natasha and pulled her oversized cardigan knitted in a southwestern pattern tighter around herself.

"It's not that bad," Bruce said. "We're used to New York."

"And Russia," Natasha added.

Looking distinctly unimpressed, Susan said, "Well I'm going to go in and make some tea and cinnamon toast."

She squeezed past Bruce and the suitcase in the narrow hall to go to the kitchen, and Natasha hung back to say quietly, "That went well."

Nodding, he scratched his beard. "Maybe I should've shaved and gotten a haircut."

"Don't you dare."

With that admonishment, Natasha went ahead to the kitchen while Bruce wrangled their luggage up the two flights of stairs to his childhood bedroom. The day before, Susan had actually called him, because there wasn't time to send a letter, to ask if he'd feel more comfortable in his old room than in the guest room where he'd stayed with Betty the last time he'd been here. Flushing and fumbling for words, Bruce agreed his bedroom was a better option, although as he stepped inside and found it exactly as he'd left it when he moved to Desert State for undergrad, he started to second-guess that decision. The Einstein poster over the desk wasn't exactly the view you wanted from the bed you were sharing with your girlfriend. He took it down, but as he rolled it up, it occurred to him that the original _Star Wars_ trilogy posters over the bed weren't much better.

Before he went on an undecorating frenzy, he went downstairs. Anyway, it wasn't like Natasha didn't already know he was a nerd…geek…dork. She'd used them all.

The aroma of cinnamon sugar wafted to him before he reached the kitchen, as did Aunt Susan's voice:

"...used to make this for Bruce, when he first came to live with me."

She stood at the marbled yellow laminate counter, spreading butter creamed together with cinnamon and sugar-and the secret ingredient, vanilla-over slices of white bread, while Natasha leaned against the cupboards, cradling a teacup in both hands.

"It's good comfort food," she said, glancing at him as he came through the door. "Bruce makes it for us fairly often."

He'd started that back when they were at Avengers Tower, following Code Greens.

"I didn't know how to make much else," Susan went on without looking his way, as though she didn't know he was there. "I think that was why my marriage ended, honestly. I just couldn't be bothered to cook, after I taught five hours of piano lessons."

Picking up the baking sheet, she turned to carry it to the oven, the soles of her slippers scuffing over the tile, and finally noticed Bruce. "So glad you decided to join us. What were you doing, thumping around up there? Thank you, dear." The last was directed at Natasha, who'd opened the oven door.

She'd probably heard him stumble when he hopped down from the chair he'd stood on to take down the Einstein poster.

"Oh, you know," he replied, avoiding making eye contact with either of them as he shuffled to the table and pulled out a chair. "Jumping on the bed for old time's sake."

"You wild child," Natasha said, seating herself kitty-corner from him, rubbing her foot against his beneath the table.

Aunt Susan set the timer for the toast, saw him at the table, and let out an abrupt burst of laughter that made Natasha's eyebrows go up.

"I'll never forget one night," Susan said, shuffling to the stove, where she picked up the kettle and filled one of the teacups on the counter beside it. "Bruce was sitting right where he is now."

"On top of a couple of telephone books, probably," he interjected, and she nodded, bringing the two cups to the table. She placed the still brewing one in front of his seat while he hopped up to draw out her chair across from Natasha.

"He was a gentlemen back then, too." She patted his hand, looking up at him with her warm hazel eyes that made him feel loved after he'd loved the only person in the world he'd thought ever would. "And he was the cutest little thing, with that mop of dark hair and those big brown eyes. But so quiet. I'd never met a quieter child, though of course that was to be expected after what he'd been through."

The back of Bruce's neck prickled, and he reached up to rub it, feeling the snarl in his mind as an almost tangible rumble. He wasn't used to making even oblique references to his childhood, and his aunt's almost casual way of mentioning it made the Other Guy stir. Bruce concentrated on his slow deep breaths through his nostrils, on Natasha's foot resting against his shin.

Aunt Susan sipped her tea, then continued her story, "One night he piped up and said, ' _Aunt Susan, I like cinnamon toast, but we shouldn't eat it all the time. It's not very healthy, and it gives me a tummy ache.'_ First opinion he offered. So, we learned to cook. Together."

"That's worked out well for me, too," said Natasha. "He makes killer chicken tikka masala in the crock pot."

The oven timer went off. Susan set down her teacup, but Bruce touched her shoulder as he pushed his chair back from the table.

"Don't get up, I've got it."

She smiled up at him, but he saw the shrewdness in her gaze, too, reading his mood as she had so many times over the years.

"How did you two meet?" she asked over the creak of the oven door as he opened it. "Avengers matchmaking service?"

Turning around with the pan of toast, Bruce caught Natasha's eye as she smirked around the rim of her teacup. As he looked at her, whatever mood Aunt Susan saw, or thought she saw, retreated.

Natasha swallowed and said, "It's a desperately romantic story."

"We were in Kolkata," he added.

"Bruce was caring for the sick."

"I saw Natasha across a shabby room. She had on a burgundy blouse a soft flowing turquoise skirt. And a red shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Right?"

Her eyebrows twitched upward, as if she were surprised with the level of detail he remembered. She waited until he'd moved to set the baking sheet on a trivet, then said, "He pretended he was going to Hulk out."

Bruce opened the cupboard above and took out a plate to arrange the toast on. "And she pulled a gun on me."

When he returned to the table with the cinnamon toast, Aunt Susan reached for a slice and said, "Believe it or not, that wouldn't be the strangest love story I've ever heard."

* * *

After their tea and toast, Bruce led Natasha through Susan's house, showing her around. It was an older home, built in the 1920s, so the hallways were narrow and the rooms small. They were also packed: a concert grand piano dominated the front living room, flanked by an upright for the younger students' lessons, and every spare inch of wall was covered with shelves to accommodate her library and music collection. That, combined with nothing having been updated in decades-it was exactly as it had been when he lived here-gave the whole place a cluttered feel, even though it was in fact very organized. Or maybe Natasha was just used to the spacious minimalism of the Tower and now their home in Ithaca.

Nevertheless, though not to her personal taste, she liked the house. It reflected its owner; Susan Banner had a put together yet still slightly frazzled demeanor, not unlike her nephew: two highly intelligent people whose madness did have a method. How much of that did Bruce come by honestly, and how much had he learned living here during his formative years?

As Natasha followed him up the paneled staircase, where three bedrooms, a study, and a bathroom branched off the hall, _frazzled_ didn't describe him accurately at all. Hands clasped, shoulders hunched, he looked nothing so much as _contained_. She'd observed him in this state many times over the years, as if he were making himself smaller in uncomfortable situations, when he felt the Big Guy close to the surface. He didn't get this way often anymore, and not recently. Were the memories of this house too much for him?

"This is where we'll be sleeping," he interrupted her musing, pushing open one of the oak doors open. "My old bedroom."

"I could've guessed," she replied as he stepped aside for her to pass through. "It's like a shrine to eighties nerdom."

"I'm just trying not to think about the fact that you were barely born at the time."

Natasha thought about making a face at him, but couldn't tear her gaze from her first proper glimpse into Bruce's mysterious youth. Although none of it was actually unexpected at all, least of all the _Star Wars_ trilogy posters hanging over the bed on the far wall. Spying what appeared to be another poster rolled up on the desk, she went over and unfurled it, snorting at the enlarged black and white photo.

"Is this what all that bumping around up here was about?"

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't think you'd appreciate Einstein sticking his tongue out at you while you're in bed."

"Good call. I'll take Han Solo and metal bikini Leia, though." Natasha rolled the poster back up, laying it on the desk beside a dusty Macintosh Plus. "Hey, tech that's ancient, yet still younger than Steve. Does this thing still run?"

She felt for the power switch, her question answered by the beep.

"I read this article once about a guy who got an old Mac on the Internet," she said. "We should totally try it."

"And you call me a nerd." Joining her at the desk, Bruce picked up the boxy mouse, connected to the computer with a cord. "I saved up my allowance and did so many odd jobs to save up for this. Got a paper route, walked neighbors' dogs, shoveled driveways, washed test tubes in the school lab, delivered pizzas, once I could drive… I wrote all my high school papers on here."

"Award-winning work," Natasha said, tapping the diploma with the Valedictorian seal, a faded tassel with a tarnished '87 and his many silk cords hanging from the edge. She stepped away from the desk to look at the ribbon and medal-covered bulletin board over the dresser, which served as a trophy case. She picked up one of the gold-painted plastic cups and read the engraving on the faux marble base: _38_ _th_ _Ohio State Science Day, Senior Division, 1_ _st_ _Place_.

"I should have put all this stuff away," Bruce said as he come to stand behind her. "It's just collecting dust."

She glanced at him over shoulder. "And deprive me of the chance to be impressed with your genius?"

Chuckling, he ducked his head. "Yeah, I'm sure you're really impressed."

"Thor may be proud of his Nobel-winner girlfriend, but _I_ have the king of the science fairs. If the adoption goes through, we'll have to make a place in the house for all the awards you'll help them win."

She replaced the trophy and turned to face Bruce fully. He had a real smile now, that hopeful light making his eyes warm.

"Did the other kids even _try_?" she asked. "Or did they just throw up their hands and give up knowing Bruce Banner would enter and sweep all the awards?"

"Hey, I had a pretty heated rivalry with Lisa Chen. Note the years I won second. Although I really should've had first in at regionals in '86. Her math was wrong."

Natasha did the math for how long he'd been hanging onto that-thirty-four years ."Did you say anything?"

"I didn't want to be that guy who made the judges look stupid." Bruce gave a diffident shrug. "And her project was really good. It was a-"

"Sorry for not being a member of your Lisa Chen fanclub," Natasha interrupted, taking a lowering herself to sit at the edge of the bed. "What was your coolest one?"

"Well…I built a fusion reactor in the basement."

"Fusion. As in nuclear?"

"Uh-huh. Aunt Susan may have it, if you want to see. You probably noticed she keeps a lot of stuff around."

"All I want for Christmas is nukes," Natasha joked, but Bruce didn't appear to have heard her as he looked around the room.

"It seems so small," he mused, more to himself than to her.

Well-that confirmed what she'd read into his body language.

"They say that's how it is when you revisit your childhood home as an adult," he went on before she could decide whether to do any digging yet. "Guess I just didn't notice last time. Or maybe I did. That was so long ago…And I didn't sleep here."

His gaze met hers, eyes widening slightly, as though he'd just walked into the room and was surprised to find her there. She patted the mattress beside her, and he moved toward her, eying it critically.

"Will the bed be too small for us? It's only a full size."

Natasha reached for his hand. "We'll just have to stay close," she said, and pulled him with her onto the bed.


	4. Chapter 3: Getting to Know You

**3\. Getting To Know You**

Descending the narrow stairs into Aunt Susan's basement the next morning, Bruce found himself holding his breath.

As a kid, he'd been afraid of basements-as many kids were. Damp and dark, with their unfinished walls exposing plumbing and wiring, the only floor the cold, concrete slab of the house's foundation, filled mainly with unwanted or unused items strewn haphazardly about, collecting cobwebs, which anything could be hiding behind, or under-roaches, rodents… If his mother asked him to take a load out of the dryer he'd brave it for her, but the worst punishment his father could devise was cleaning out the basement. Mostly because he knew Bruce was afraid, and mocked him for it. _There are no monsters more terrifying than the one you carry inside you._ Bruce hadn't understood that then, of course, but now…

Now his fingers tightened around the stair rail, which rocked slightly beneath his weight. It wasn't anchored tightly enough into the wall, screws pulling free of the sheet rock. He relaxed his fingers, let out his breath, made a mental note to take a look at that later. It wouldn't do for Aunt Susan to come down here to do laundry and have it fall off, or worse, for her to have a fall. She was seventy years old.

And she was watching him from the bottom of the stairs.

He came the rest of the way down and pretended to have been looking around at the clutter in dismay, stacks of boxes and piles of bags. It wasn't quite like an episode of _Hoarders_ , but he couldn't immediately spot the washer and dryer, either.

"The real reason why you invited us for Christmas is suddenly clear," he said. "You wanted me to help you clean out your basement."

"I'll pay your going rate. What was it again? Grossly in violation of child labor laws, I'm sure. At least that's how my students look at me when I ask if they'd like to earn a little extra money doing a few odd jobs for me."

"It's too bad Natasha got tied up with a work call. She'd love a little extra pocket money to support her leather jacket and boot habit."

Susan _hmm_ ed. "I never was a leather jacket kind of girl, but that one she had on yesterday made me wish I had been. Guess I'm too old now not to look like I'm trying too hard. But are you telling me consulting for the government doesn't keep a woman fashionably dressed _and_ buy a house in Ithaca?"

Honestly, how did Tony live as a billionaire? Bruce felt self-conscious enough with his aunt remarking on his single piece of real estate. It was less mortifying that they'd bought it on a dual income, he supposed.

"Do you still keep the Christmas decorations over there?" He asked, squeezing himself between stacks of boxes, cutting a path to the far corner of the basement.

"So after Natasha pulled the gun on you, how long was it till you started dating?"

Aunt Susan did that sometimes: ask questions of her own instead of answering other people's. Bruce never was sure if she hadn't heard him, or if she chose not to answer questions they could figure out for themselves. It might've been the result of forty years of teaching music lessons.

She didn't wait for an answer, but elaborated, "Only I thought the whole reason you ended it with Betty was because your…alter ego…complicated relationships. Don't get me wrong." She put on the glasses dangling from the chain around her neck, and her hazel eyes found his across the basement, where he'd paused in the middle of the narrow path between boxes. "The last thing I want is for you to go through life all alone. I've never thought you should. Nothing makes me happier than to know you're not, that you're teaching and living a normal life again. I'm just curious. What's different now?"

"Well the common denominator in both relationships is me, so…Clearly _I'm_ different."

Bruce tried to huff out a laugh, but it caught in his throat. He didn't want to talk about Betty. He'd resolved all of that-as much as it could be. At the same time he understood that Susan would be curious, confused even, about his situation and how it accommodated the life he'd lost with Betty. When he'd brought Betty home in college, Susan treated her like family. He supposed that was why the question unsettled him. He'd been sure she would be just as welcoming to Natasha-and she had been, so far. It just hadn't occurred to him she might need closure with regard to his love life.

Picking at the edge of a strip of tape on a battered box, he began, "After I ran off from her twice and cut off all communication, Betty was done with my bullshit."

" _Hmm_. Doesn't sound like her."

With a sigh, Bruce conceded the point. "She would've given up everything for me, but I didn't want that for her. I didn't want her to miss her window, waiting for something that might never happen."

"What is that something, exactly? Control? You can make the transformation happen now, can't you? Although other people can make you change, too? Like the girl with the mind control powers in Johannesburg?"

"Yes…"

Bruce had tried to put the destruction of Johannesburg behind him as best he could, to forgive himself for not being able to stay in control, but hadn't succeeded entirely. Although they'd been writing to each other for years, they'd avoided this topic. It was weird hearing his aunt talk about it dispassionately, to know she'd watched the news and seen the rampage…the carnage. His stomach churned with shame and guilt, but he forced himself to face her, not to tuck tail and run.

"It's a little like…unleashing a mad dog. Calling him back's the hard part. But Natasha came up with a way to do it. She's been through a lot herself."

"She seems like an old soul," Susan said, winding her way through the maze of boxes toward him. "And she's a soul _mate_?"

Bruce managed to avoid an audible sigh of relief that Susan was moving on from the subject of Betty. Natasha he could happily talk about to her heart's content.

"It was a really intimate experience," he said, "but by the time we figured out what we felt for each other was more than friendship, we'd missed our window. Or we thought we had." He let out a shuddering exhale, amended. " _I_ thought we had."

Having peeled the tape back, the box flaps sprang open, and for a moment Bruce was distracted by what was inside. Immediately, the scent of newspaper filled his nostrils, taking him back not only to the all but bygone era of reading the news in print form, but to Christmases past, unwrapping and wrapping the breakable Christmas decorations in these same sheets of _The Dayton Daily News_ , featuring headlines about local government elections in the 70s, and _Peanuts_ strips from before it was in reruns, an ad for sales at Rike's and the department store's annual Christmas parade and famous animated window displays; it was a Macy's now.

"After Johannesburg," Bruce went on, "Natasha still wasn't afraid of me. Or of having a life with me. It took a little longer for me not to be. And then, um, I was in space."

"I've always believed long-distance relationships are difficult enough without light years involved."

"Just ask Thor and Dr. Foster."

Was it the basement lighting? The trick of so much red in the box of Christmas decorations? Or was Susan flushing?

"Oh, I could never speak coherently to Thor." She glanced away, and _giggled_.

Accustomed as Bruce was to the legion of women who got swoony over Thor-and men; he'd felt a little weak-kneed in the God of Thunder's presence himself, though of course he'd never admit it to Tony-he never imagined Aunt Susan joining their ranks.

"So…" He scratched his chin. "To answer your question…"

"Did I ask a question?"

"Natasha and I have been together, officially, for a little over two years."

"Are you planning to get married?"

"We…"

Just when he'd started to feel comfortable with this conversation-or at least to not feel completely _not_ comfortable with it-Susan put him off balance again. She must assume since he'd planned to marry Betty, he still wanted that. It had never been a part of the conversation with Natasha. Not for lack of commitment, just…it didn't seem necessary. Put like that, though, it sounded lame.

"We've started the adoption process."

They hadn't discussed whether or not they'd tell Susan that-they hadn't discussed a lot of things, it seemed-and Bruce blurted it out without thinking. Despite her not being an old-fashioned or judgmental person, he wasn't sure how she'd feel about this, since she had asked about marriage.

But her face lit up like a Christmas tree, as she dropped the ornament she'd been unwrapping and seized his hand over the box between them. "Oh, Bruce, that's wonderful. When you used to babysit Jennifer, I always thought what a good father you'd make."

The back of his neck prickled, and with his free hand he reached back to pull at the shaggy hair that curled over his collar.

"It's not a sure thing," he said. "We've got a long way to go, but our application was accepted. We're having our home study after the New Year."

"Domestic adoption, then?"

"Initially we thought we'd try international. Russia or India since those have personal significance for us, but neither government has lifted its sanctions. And we decided that there are lots of orphans of the Battle of New York and the Infinity Wars. It would be our way of doing our part to rebuild."

Susan gave him a wry smile. "Because saving the world wasn't enough?"

* * *

At the sound of heavy objects thumping downstairs, Natasha glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. Way past time to wrap up her call.

"Okay, Dana," she said to the agent at the other end of the line. "When I talk to him, I'll be back in touch. No guarantees on time, though. It's Christmas."

As she rounded the bend of the staircase, tucking her phone into the back pocket of her jeans, she saw Bruce in the entryway, wearing his coat and standing on one foot, balancing himself with a hand pressed against the wall as he tugged on an old snow boot with the other.

"Get all the decorations lugged up from the basement?" she asked.

"In the den and ready to deck the halls," he replied, switching hands and legs to pull on the other boot.

"Sorry I couldn't help."

"I know how you like to shirk. Everything okay with work?"

"Are we in a Dr. Seuss book?"

"So far the Other Guy's never tried to steal Christmas, but he might, if he had the chance." Bruce's words were joking, but his dark eyes remained serious; she hadn't answered his question.

With a glance down the hall, where sounds of Aunt Susan bumping around were followed by the muffled strains of an old Christmas album-Bing or Sinatra or Andy Williams, Natasha couldn't tell which-she stepped closer to Bruce and lowered her voice.

"FBI's had an eye on a crime ring they want to hand off to SHIELD. They want me to call Coulson."

She followed the roll of his Adam's apple down into the scarf Bruce had started to wind around his neck, then back up again. "If there's a crime ring that the FBI thinks is SHIELD's jurisdiction, isn't there a pretty good chance it's already on SHIELD's radar?"

"Pretty good," Natasha echoed, moving even closer to help him knot the scarf. "Then again, you're thinking about Fury's SHIELD. Coulson's works and plays well with others." His eyebrows twitched upward, and she conceded, "Plays _better_ with others."

"Still seems a little… _involved_ for a retired agent, don't you think?" Bruce turned to take a knitted cap off the coat rack. He pulled it down onto his head. Or tried to; getting his hair under it presented something of a challenge, and curls stuck out every which way from under it. "Do you even have security clearance to talk to _Director_ Coulsonon the phone?"

"I transcend security clearance. I know his direct line."

His mouth formed a smile, but it lacked conviction. Natasha hadn't missed the swallowed sound of his voice, either, the way he measured his words and even the way he spoke them. Bruce would never be one hundred percent comfortable with SHIELD, old or new. She leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, the edge of his beard prickling her chin.

"Don't worry. I have no intention of getting involved. I'm not even going to call Coulson right away. He's missed out on too many Christmases with Audrey."

"Never stand in the way of a musician's holiday plans." Bruce's eyes crinkled at the corners as his smile reached them now.

"So, what can I do to prove I'm not a shirker?"

"I'm going to hang the outside lights before it gets dark," he replied, delving into his coat pocket for his gloves.

"It's ten in the morning."

"It could take me that long."

"Are there that many lights, or are you that bad at hanging them?"

Bruce paused in adjusting the fingers of his gloves. "You may have noticed I'm not very tall."

"The Other Guy is."

"But not exactly the holly jolly green giant. First I need to shovel the sidewalk and driveway."

A fresh layer of snow had fallen overnight, and the dropping temperatures froze the puddles underneath.

"You can help me in here, Natasha," called Susan from the hall.

Natasha started to go, but Bruce caught her arm and drew her back. He leaned in close, making her think for a moment he was going to kiss her, then his eyes darted over her shoulder into the hall before he spoke in hushed tones.

"If we have time later, could you come to the mall with me and help me find Aunt Susan a leather jacket?"

"A leather jacket?"

"Apparently I'm not the only Banner with a green-eyed monster," he replied.

Without further explanation, he pecked Natasha on the lips and ducked through the front door to let her work it out the uncharacteristically cryptic statement as she made her way down the hall. The more pressing concerns as she could hear the crooner over the stereo more clearly was differentiating between Bing or Ol' Blue Eyes-at least she'd eliminated Andy-and, most importantly, what to talk about with Susan. There were lots of questions to ask Bruce's aunt, but none of them seemed like great conversation openers.

Fortunately, Susan had that covered.

"Would you mind turning the CD player down a notch?" her voice greeted as Natasha entered the cozy back living room, which now contained so many boxes that it more closely resembled a storage closet. At first she didn't see Susan, then spotted her over the back of the sofa, kneeling on the floor in front of the window to secure the bottom section of an artificial Christmas tree in the base. A writing desk had been pushed aside to make room for the tree.

"I don't know what's happened to the remote," Susan went on. "Maybe the Grinch…"

"I've got it," Natasha replied, spotting it on the coffee table. She adjusted the volume and joined Susan assembling the tree.

"You're probably regretting not staying home for your first Christmas in your new house," Susan said as she glanced and the room, as if noticing the mess for the first time.

"It wouldn't have been very festive, since we don't have any decorations."

Neither one of them had been much for the holiday. When she wasn't working, she spent most of hers with Clint and Laura. They'd had parties at the Tower, of course, but Pepper had hired a decorator rather than depend on the Avengers to get crafty or creative-both dangerous when Tony was involved.

"Bruce was talking about after-Christmas clearances."

"That's the way to do it, only beware getting overrun by wrapping paper. It seems like such a bargain at the time, but no one really needs twenty rolls of Christmas gift wrap."

"Sage advice."

Natasha thought of Laura's craft room at the farm and her collection of Christmas gift wrap, which she went through annually with three kids to get presents for. Would that be her and Bruce next year? Fighting the Black Friday crowds at Toys R Us? Could be a potentially more dangerous prospect than the Chitauri or Hydra. Would they stay up all night wrapping or assembling bikes from Santa?

"I usually do this earlier," Susan's voice drew her back to the present, "but it seems like every year it's more work getting ready for my holiday music programs."

"How many students do you teach?" Natasha readily pursued this conversation thread, glad for the distraction from the turn her own thoughts, which were getting a little too optimistic for comfort.

"Only around twenty out of my home, these days. I also teach some group classes at one of the community colleges, and I lead the choirs at church."

"You're religious?" Bruce never mentioned a churchgoing background.

"Don't look so worried," Susan said, laughing. "I'm Unitarian Universalist."

Natasha nodded; she didn't have much experience with any church, but she knew Unitarians were the co-exist types. Not surprising, given Susan's artistic, slightly hippie aura.

"And busy," Natasha remarked.

"I didn't even mention the music therapy sessions," Susan added with a grin.

"Are you sure _you_ aren't a superhero?"

Their conversation lapsed for a few minutes as they fluffed the branches of the assembled tree and hunted through them for the power cords to connect the sections of lights and listened to the deep baritone. The CD changed, an out of date sound that Natasha didn't immediately recognize.

As the jazz piano soundtrack of the Charlie Brown Christmas movie crackled out of the speakers- _O Tannenbaum_ , appropriately- Susan spoke again, as if there had been no break in the conversation.

"You know, a few of the kids I work with have been in the foster system, or are adopted. I can give you some resources or connect you with some music therapists in New York if that's something you and Bruce would be interested in. You might find it very helpful. Now why isn't this middle section lighting up? Did we miss a plug?"

It took a lot to surprise Natasha, but here she was, staring at Susan as she put on her glasses and leaned into the Christmas tree, pushing branches aside in search of the culprit of their light malfunction.

"Bruce told you we're trying to adopt? Voluntarily?"

"No, everything seems to be hooked up," Susan murmured, straightening up. "Guess there's a bulb out…I think I've got a tester somewhere, in one of those boxes…" As she stepped away from the tree, leaving Natasha to wonder whether she'd heard her question at all, she answered it. "I don't know if I'd say Bruce _volunteered_ the info so much as blurted it out when I cornered him about whether you two had marriage plans."

The track ended, and for a few long seconds, the only sound was a scraping sound outside the window-Bruce shoveling, Natasha realized after a moment.

"I'm not sure we're really the marrying kind," she replied.

"Bruce is. Or he used to be. But then people do change. I'm not judging, dear," she added, turning back to touch Natasha gently on the arm.

"I didn't think you were."

"How interesting-I always imagined I'd never be able to guess if a super spy was lying to me."

Natasha had to smile at that, and Susan returned it.

"I'm thrilled you've opened him back up to love and a real life. He's a tough nut to crack." With a squeeze, she released Natasha's arm and pulled back the flaps of the nearest box to rummage inside. "That's the reason I became interested in music therapy, you know. He was so withdrawn. I took him to see a counselor, but he just wouldn't talk, to her or to me. I think he was equal parts sad that I wasn't his mother, and scared that I'd be like my brother…One day I noticed him sitting on the stairs while I taught a piano lesson, listening through the French doors. It was the first time I'd seen him look relaxed. Or smile. So, I exposed him to all the music I could. Made sure it was always playing in the house…that he heard it live. I didn't have a lot of money for concerts, but there were student and faculty recitals at the university. We attended all of those we could."

"He told me," Natasha replied, and Susan looked pleased. "Listening to music's still a big part of how he comes back to himself after a transformation."

She pictured him on the quinjet with his headphones on, oblivious to Tony complaining about how the cool image was so deceiving when was listening to opera.

"Does he play?"

"I gave him lessons," Susan replied, moving to the next box, finding a zip-top baggie containing the light tester and spare bulbs right on top.

"Was he any good?"

"He was…accurate. I never could decide if he was afraid to play with expression, or if he just wasn't naturally very musically inclined. In any case, he didn't seem to get as much pleasure from making music as he did from listening to it. Which was fine. I don't expect all my students to be musicians. And Bruce certainly has his areas he excels in."

She fell silent as she tested the section of lights, and Natasha recognized that the tune playing was _What Child Is This?_

"Aha! There are the culprits. Hand me the spare bulbs, please?"

Dropping the burnt-out ones in Natasha's hand, she went on as she replaced them. "People always said how good it was that I was able to take him in. That he was lucky to have family rather than get passed through the foster system after a trauma like that. Certainly that was one reason why I offered. What I didn't realize at the time was how good it would be for me."

The new bulbs in place, and the middle section of the tree lit up.

"Brian-Bruce's father-wasn't the only one of us who didn't plan to have children after the way we grew up. Then my divorce put me off the idea of marriage altogether. Having Bruce, though…It healed some of my own wounds that I thought never would. Helped me finally put the past behind me. I hope that'll be his experience. And yours."

"Me too," Natasha said. Especially the part about Bruce putting his past behind him. She started to tell Susan that he'd told her very little about his childhood, but before she could, he appeared in the doorway, having shed his layers of winter clothing.

"How do I still hear shoveling if you're in here?" Aunt Susan asked.

A sheepish look crossed Bruce's face as he reached up and ruffled his hair, which was flattened against his head from his hat. "Some neighbor kids recognized me and said the Hulk shouldn't be shoveling. So they took over."

"Maybe they'll volunteer to do the lights, too," Natasha said.

"Dayton's very proud to be the hometown of an Avenger," Susan said. "There was a petition a while to change the city's nickname from 'The Birthplace of Aviation' to 'The Birthplace of Smash.' I'm not sure it was a joke."

"Oh, it had to be a joke," Bruce said. "The Wright Brothers?"

Aunt Susan shrugged. "Their descendants weren't thrilled with the idea, of course. Speaking of which, if there's anything you want to take back to New York with you, Bruce, please do. I need to clear some things out of the house, and I'd be thrilled for you to take some of the heirlooms for your family."

If he'd looked uncomfortable with his celebrity, the stiffness of his shoulders, the set of his jaw, indicated this idea was downright painful to him. But he reached into a box, forced a smile as he drew out a homemade ornament, a star constructed from drinking straws and plastic beads. "Is this what you mean by _heirloom_?"

* * *

 ** _A/N: Happy holidays to you all! This will be the last update before the New Year, so I hope it'll tide you over. (I will have a holiday one-shot to post later this week, to keep the BruceNat in Christmas. ;)) This fandom has been such a gift this year, and I appreciate each and everyone of you who has read, reviewed, and followed my fics, and I hope my stories have been a small part of keeping your days merry and bright. 3_**


	5. Chapter 4: What I Can, I Give

_**A/N: Back after a Christmas hiatus, thanks to the awesome malintzin, who betaed for me after a long road trip. The holidays are over, but hopefully you all won't mind a little more Christmas in this chapter. Happy New Year to all my readers. I appreciate you all so much and am looking forward to a MARVELous 2016 with you all. 3**_

* * *

 **4\. What I Can, I Give**

The engine purred as Bruce watched his aunt through the windshield, foggy with steam and the swirl of exhaust fumes visible in the chilly night air. After he'd given her a hand out of the back seat he'd tried to walk her to the church door, but she'd declined the offer of assistance.

"There comes a point when gallantry just makes you feel geriatric. Anyway," Susan added, warm hazel eyes twinkling as they caught the light from the car, "I saw you slip on that icy patch a second ago. I think I'll take my chances with the sidewalk."

Although Bruce slid back into the driver's seat feeling a little chastised, he didn't immediately pull away from the curb, or even shut the door all the way behind him. Instead, he let the motor idle as he kept an eye on her. Apart from walking a little slower now than she used to, with her shoulders more hunched, which may have been in concession to the black ice on the sidewalk, he had to concede that Aunt Susan really had aged well.

"I didn't mean to make her feel old," he commented to Natasha, who sat in the front passenger seat. "Force of habit. I must've dropped her off at choir practice a thousand times. We only had the one car, and I had to get to the mall…I worked at the pizza place..."

Natasha's eyebrows went up. "We're going to the mall after this. Are you taking me out for pizza at your old job?"

"I hadn't planned to, but I guess I could…" Bruce chuckled, rubbing a hand over his beard. "I don't even know if it's still there."

The church door swung open as Susan reached it, and after she greeted the fellow church member who'd gotten it for her she turned back to wave. Bruce raised one hand from the steering wheel, leery of whoever it was coming out to speak to him. It was needless worry; his aunt disappeared inside, and at last he shifted into drive and pulled the car around the parking lot.

"Sorry for abandoning you this morning," he said as he turned out onto Yankee Street, "I hope it wasn't awkward for you, after you only just met."

"Susan's one of those weirdly easy people to talk to," Natasha replied. "Maybe because she does most of the talking."

Bruce heard the wryness in her voice even before he glanced at her and saw her smirk in the brief flash as they passed under a street light. That was his aunt to a T.

"What did she do most of the talking about?"

"Well…She wanted to know if I intend to make an honest man out of you."

Although Natasha's words were jokey, Bruce hadn't missed that nanosecond of hesitation before she said them, which hinted at something not at all jokey.

"Yeah…she mentioned that to me, too."

"Before or after you told her we started the adoption process?"

 _Damn it._ He braked to a stop at a red light. They hadn't discussed whether they would tell Susan about their adoption plans or not. Probably not, given how early they still were in the process. After he spilled the beans, he'd hoped his aunt would have the sense not to say anything about it to someone she'd met only the night before. Shouldn't have relied on hope…

"Before," he admitted. "That's why I blurted it out."

"I'm not following."

Bruce's fingers slid into the grooves of the steering wheel as he worked to piece his own scattered thought process together in a cogent order for Natasha.

"I don't know," he began. "I felt like she was questioning our commitment, and I had to prove it."

Did he? Was Natasha questioning it? Was that why she'd brought this up? They'd bought a house together, made a life and plans for the future…were attempting to start a family against odds nearly as impossible as the biological ones. If that wasn't commitment, then he didn't understand the meaning of the word.

"Light's green," her voice rasped gently into his musings.

Overcompensating for not noticing the signal had changed, Bruce gunned it off the line. Fortunately there was no one in front of him to rear end.

"Sorry," he said through his teeth.

In his periphery he saw Natasha watching him steadily. Her hand came to rest lightly on his thigh.

"This isn't the conversation we need to have right now," she said.

She was letting him off the hook. Bruce knew in the pit of his stomach that he should probably deal with the uncomfortable topic-or the other one her _the_ indicated they did need to be having right now-but, coward that he was, he took the reprieve she dangled out to him and changed it.

"I'd prefer to have the one about where we can find an age-appropriate leather jacket for Aunt Susan."

"Depends what's at the mall," she said with a shrug, withdrawing her hand to face forward in her seat. He felt the absence of her touch at once.

Felt alone, right next to her.

Bruce repeated that he didn't know which stores were still there and which had changed since he'd last been in Dayton. A number of the landmarks on the way to the mall had, and conversation lapsed altogether as he got a little lost. When they did finally pull onto the mall drive, even parking felt odd to him because what used to be Rike's Department Store was now lit up by the glowing red star of Macy's.

"Appropriate for Christmas, though," Natasha quipped, "a wise man and woman from the East, following yonder star."

Snorting, Bruce said, "To the mall, though? Charlie Brown's right about the commercialization of Christmas."

The joking diffused the tension, and they held hands as they made their way across the parking lot. Having come from New York City, they'd expected shopping at a mall in not even the largest city in Ohio to be a piece of cake, but he'd forgotten the insanity of even small shopping malls two days before Christmas. They entered Macy's at the shoe section, where Natasha was instantly distracted by the displays of boots.

"You've already taken up half our closet with your boot collection," Bruce teased as gently pried one from her hands that didn't look all that different from a pair she had back home, except that they laced up the back, which was an interesting fashion design choice. How did that work, practically?

"But we have four more bedrooms with empty closets," Natasha replied, but allowed him to take her hand again and pull her away from the shoes.

Once they found the coats, they chose a jacket for Aunt Susan relatively quickly, Natasha having a laser focus for that sort of thing.

"There's another career possibility for you, if you get tired of security consulting," Bruce suggested. "Personal stylist." He was only half-joking, after what she'd said about the morning's phone call about the space crime ring, or whatever it was.

"Potentially more dramatic and dangerous than the superhero gig."

They had time to kill before Susan's choir rehearsal ended, so they walked around the mall. Some of the stores had changed, but the overall look of the mall hadn't, and when they walked past the food court, Phantom Pizza _was_ still there. For old time's sake, they got slices and sat down at a table by the railing that overlooked the central plaza, where the Santa Claus display was. The line wound around and around like an amusement park, and some of the kids seemed to be seriously testing whether they were on the naughty or nice list. Bruce wondered whether they'd make it to the front of the line before the mall closed.

"Not exactly New York pizza," he said, biting into his slice.

"But it does give me a sense of your very middle-class Midwestern upbringing."

Natasha turned from watching the families in line for Santa and faced Bruce, the amused lines fading from her face as her eyes settled on him in a way that made him squirm inwardly. _Worm on a hook._

"Being around Aunt Susan, hearing allusions she's made…I'm realizing how little you've actually talked about your past. I hardly know anything about it that wasn't in your file."

"I showed you all my science fair awards and bought you pizza from my old place of employment."

He tried to play it off, but despite how much time he'd spent with Tony, that wasn't a skill he'd mastered.

"That's surface stuff," Natasha said, wiping the grease off her fingers with her napkin before folding her arms on the edge of the table. "You know that's not what I mean."

"It's not like you've opened up to me about yours."

"True." When her gaze flickered down, Bruce hoped it meant point taken, but then they snapped up again. "Maybe I should."

He shook his head slowly. "Some doors are better left closed, Natasha. To keep the monsters inside."

She didn't respond. Or move. Bruce resumed eating his pizza. Only when she scooted her chair back from the table and picked up her tray as she stood did it occur how she might have taken his words. How she _had_ taken them.

The scrape of his own chair's legs against the floor underscored his breathless apology. "Natasha, I'm sorry…You know I didn't mean…"

"I know."

She emptied the contents of her tray into the trash can, the flap swinging on its hinges as she placed the tray atop. When she turned back she avoided his gaze, side-stepped him to return to their table. He followed, stammering an explanation as she put on her jacket and slid her purse strap over her shoulder.

"It's just…it's Christmas. We're in a mall full of parents shopping for their kids and kids seeing Santa…We're looking at the future we hope to have. Is this really the place to open those doors?"

"You're right," she replied, gripping the handle of their shopping bag. "But Bruce…sometimes I feel like your doors aren't just shut, they're locked. "And you've thrown away the key."

* * *

 _In the bleak mid-winter_

 _Frosty wind made moan…_

Choir rehearsal hadn't ended yet when they arrived back at the church to pick up Aunt Susan. The drive from the mall had been about as comfortable as if the Other Guy had tried to squeeze into the Honda, and when Natasha suggested they go inside to wait, Bruce readily agreed.

 _Earth stood hard as iron,_

 _Water like a stone…_

Only about a dozen singers stood at the front of the sanctuary, not so much directed as accompanied by Susan on the grand piano at the center of the stage in front of the choir risers, but their voices carried to the back, where Bruce and Natasha stood just inside the doors.

 _Snow had fallen, snow on snow,_

 _Snow on snow,_

 _In the bleak mid-winter_

 _Long ago._

As the song went through the Nativity story, he stole a glance at her, curious what she was making of the overt religious references. Her expression, though, was blank, unreadable as she listened with her head slightly tilted.

Bruce returned his eyes to the front, settling on Aunt Susan at the piano, a sight he was deeply familiar with, both at home and right here in this church. Natasha had been surprised at the religious upbringing he never spoke about, but the truth was, he didn't think about it all that much, either. Attending or not had been his choice, when he was old enough, and more often than not he hadn't, preferring to sleep in on Sunday mornings. Special musical performances were the exception. Music had always soothed him, long before Hulkouts, and his taste in music-or utter lack thereof, as Tony said-had been partially formed sitting in this small sanctuary, the voices of the choir floating up into the exposed beams of the vaulted ceiling as golden morning light beamed the high window slots that lined the side aisles, and filtered in a rainbow through the stained-glass.

In the dim light of the winter night, the gentle melody of the Christmas carol was having that effect on him now, calming his erratic heartbeat and clearing his head. Maybe this was the sort of thing Natasha meant when she wanted him to open up about his past.

 _What can I give Him,_

 _Poor as I am?_

Maybe it was the imagery of the stable and the manger that turned Bruce's thoughts to Barton's farm. He pictured himself there, with her, in the midst of another argument.

 _If I were a shepherd_

 _I would bring a lamb…_

 _If I were a wise man_

 _I would do my part…_

Natasha's fingers curled around his. He looked at her again, but her eyes were fixed ahead, on the choir.

 _Yet what I can, I give Him -_

 _Give my heart._

* * *

Playing Santa on Christmas morning, Bruce pulled one of the neatly wrapped packages from beneath the tree and held it out to Natasha. The hopeful light in his eyes, the soft smile on his lips almost undid her, but rather than take it from him, she arched an eyebrow.

"I thought we agreed no presents this year, what with the new house and everything."

He ducked his head, caught his lower lip between his teeth. "We did, but…Did you really think I was going to stick to that? Did _you_ stick to it?"

Natasha pursed her lips to squelch a smile, but failed. She reached out and accepted the present from him.

"Nice gift wrapping, Doc," she commented as he stood behind the couch, looking over her shoulder. She was always slightly amazed at how tidily he wrapped, when he himself existed in a perpetually rumpled state.

"Nice _un_ wrapping," Bruce replied as she slid a fingernail beneath the piece of tape at one folded end, carefully reaching in to slide the box out from its wrap without tearing the paper or compromising the shape.

A shoebox. A _boot_ box, to be exact, and she looked up at him, lifting her eyebrow again. "You went shoe shopping for me?"

"That was brave," Aunt Susan said. "Then again, you are a superhero."

Bruce just nodded at the box. "I had a little help."

Natasha lifted the lid, imagining Bruce looking as befuddled in a shoe store as he had the first time he was aboard the Helicarrier, enlisting a salesgirl to help him shop, but as she pulled back the tissue paper, she burst out laughing.

"These are the boots I was ogling the other day in Macy's," she said, drawing out the cognac boots that laced up the back. "When did you sneak back for them?"

Sometime after their fraught shopping trip to the mall; with a pang she realized that they weren't just a Christmas gift, they were a peace offering.

"Let me have some secrets, if I can't shop for you all on my own."

"Why would you, when she has such wonderful taste in fashion?" asked Aunt Susan, admiring the boots from across the room, where she sat in a chair near the fire. "Although they look a little complicated to put on."

"I'm glad you agree with Natasha's taste," Bruce said, going back to the tree and stooping for another gift. "Because she helped me pick this out for you."

"Oh, Bruce," she said, taking out the rich brown blazer-style leather jacket, "you really shouldn't have."

"Of course I should. After I made you feel old the other day, this seemed like the perfect way to make up for it."

"You don't think I look like I'm trying too hard?" Susan asked, though she'd already shed her cardigan to try on the new jacket.

"You look fantastic," Natasha assured her. "I knew that color would really bring out the russet tones in your hair and eyes."

Susan stepped out of the living room, presumably into the hall powder room to check her reflection in the mirror.

"I think you did well," Natasha told Bruce.

" _You_ did," he said, bending to pick up the discarded wrapping paper and add it to the trash bag.

"With our powers combined, we make a super jacket shopping team."

"Amen to that," Aunt Susan said, coming back into the room. "Thank you so much." She hugged Natasha, then Bruce, pecking him on the cheek. "Now," she said, drawing back, "I have something for you."

Still wearing the jacket, she stepped around him, avoiding the discarded Macy's box her jacket had been wrapped in.

"Here, let me-" he started to say, but stopped when Susan glanced back at him. "You can't think I look like an old lady with this jacket on, can you?"

Natasha moved her feet so Bruce could sit at the opposite end of the sofa, thinking as he did that he only the beard kept him from looking every inch the compliant boy he'd once been. Even with it, the look on his face as he tore off the gift wrap-which looked like Susan had it since the 80s-made her feel she was somehow seeing a ghost of one of Bruce's Christmases past. Which was likely as much as she was going to get, if he continued to clam up about his childhood.

His exclamation of _Oh my God_ as he opened the flaps of the box pushed the thought to the back of her mind, and she uncurled her legs to scoot closer to him on the sofa as he said, "Now _these_ are a blast from the past."

By _these_ he meant a big stack of vintage Captain America comics.

"Are they first editions?" Natasha asked, noting the dates of the issues were all from the 1940s.

"Yeah," Bruce replied, "though not exactly mint condition."

The covers were faded, tattered.

"I found those when we were down in the basement the other day," Aunt Susan said, running her hand along the sofa as she came around it to resume her chair. "I remembered how much you loved them when you were little and thought you might want to give them to your kids."

 _Your kids._ She spoke about them as though the adoption were a sure thing. Natasha's pulse quickened, but she didn't let herself smile until she looked up at Bruce and saw one curving on his lips, a nostalgic look lighting his eyes.

"Definitely," he said. "These meant a lot to me as a kid."

"They did to us, too," said Susan, smiling as she shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over the arm of her chair, rubbing her hand over the supple leather.

"Us?" Natasha asked.

"Hm? Oh, my sister and me. And Brian."

Bruce had been rifling through the stack of comic books, turning the pages and looking at them as though he were meeting long-lost friends, but now he went absolutely still.

"There used to be a lot more," Aunt Susan went on, oblivious, "but our father destroyed them. He fought in the war, you see, and he wasn't very happy to come home and find his son idolizing a Super Soldier when men like him were on the front lines. Those are the only ones Brian managed to hide."

"You never told me that," Bruce said, lips barely moving as he half-swallowed the words. He stared down at the comics in his lap, the nostalgic expression gone, eyes hard as if the books had changed into something he'd never seen before.

His aunt considered him for a moment, then went on, "Elaine and I would sneak out of bed to read them with Brian after bad days with dad. It helped to think that there was someone out there who fought for justice and right. Never knowing someday our nephew would be his brother-in-arms. With his girlfriend," she added with a smile at Natasha.

She made herself return it, turn to Bruce and say lightly, "You'll have to show these to Steve. Get him to autograph them," but her voice scraped over the words.

"Yeah. Thanks, Aunt Susan. This is really thoughtful."

He packed the comics back into the cardboard box, and Natasha could tell by the set of his mouth as he closed the flaps that he was packing away any further discussion on the subject, too.

* * *

The bedroom door stood ajar when Natasha emerged from the bathroom later that night. She slipped silently through it, although the squeak of the hinges as she pulled it shut behind her gave her away. Not that she was trying to sneak in.

Bruce, already in bed, didn't stir at her entrance. He wasn't asleep. Enough light poured through the open curtains that she could make out the stillness of his shoulders. He wasn't the heaviest of sleepers, but even he breathed more deeply than that when he slept. He lay on his side, facing toward the window and the waxing gibbous moon.

It gave her an idea about how to break the silence. To his credit, he hadn't let himself slip into a brooding mood after the painful moment when they were exchanging presents, though by the end of the night it had been obvious the veneer of happiness was wearing thin. He'd been quiet and distracted while they watched _It's a Wonderful Life_ after dinner, ordinarily one of his favorite Christmas traditions.

Untying the belt of her robe, she sang low: "Buffalo gals won't you come out tonight, won't you come out tonight, won't you come out tonight...Buffalo gals won't you came out tonight, and…." Like George Bailey in the movie, Bruce's voice joined with hers, a little off-key as he harmonized. "…dance by the light of the moon."

Not the most beautiful duet ever sung, especially not in the house of a musician, but Natasha didn't care. As her robe slipped off her shoulders and pooled on the floor at her feet, he rolled onto his other side to face her, lifting the blankets for her as she joined him in bed and putting his arms around her to draw her close.

"What is it you want, Tasha?" he murmured. "You want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and-" He stopped short, the pillowcase rustling beneath his head as he shook it. "I can't give you the moon any more than George Bailey could give it to Mary."

"She didn't want the moon," Natasha replied, stroking his cheek, the softness of his beard. "And neither do I."

She wanted him to be open with her, to trust her enough to open up, but she knew from personal experience how hard-earned Bruce's trust was. She'd been patient before to make the lullaby work. She would have to be again.

"Bruce Banner," she said in his ear, his beard prickling against her cheek and chin, "I'll love you till the day I die."

In answer, he pressed his lips to hers with an insistence she understood even if he couldn't put it into words. Natasha kissed him back, wrapped her arms and legs around him as he covered his body with her own. For now, actions would have to speak for them.


	6. Chapter 5: Family Values

_**A/N: So sorry for going two weeks between updates without warning! I will most likely be switching to bi-weekly updates for the sake of my own sanity because I have several writing projects going at the moment and a one-week turnaround on chapters is kind of much. Thanks so much for bearing with me and for all your encouragement - especially**_ **Katla _who gave me some inspiration for this chapter, and my beta reader,_ Malintzin _. Hope you enjoy the update, and if you have an extra moment, let me know! There are a few cameos from the MCU who made this really fun to write. :)_**

* * *

 **5\. Family Values**

"Look who's home for the holidays."

Tony's voice reverberated in the underground parking lot, which Bruce and Natasha had been crossing toward the brightly lit entryway to the attached building. They stopped and turned to see him emerging from the passenger door of what appeared to be a new Tesla, although it was a little hard to tell with the spatter of Upstate New York snow and mud. The driver's seat was empty, and Tony hadn't bothered to pull in between the lines. Not that space was at a premium.

"This isn't exactly home," Bruce said, indicating the pair of glass doors, each etched with a large encircled A. He'd been to the Avengers Facility before, used the lab, even stayed in Natasha's suite for a few days when he re-joined the team after his stint in Asgard, but never lived here. It wasn't like the Tower, where they'd resumed residence for a few months in the wake of the Infinity Wars while they figured out their relationship and made future plans.

"True," came Tony's unexpected agreeable reply, punctuated by the slam of the car door behind him.

"And we're not here for the holidays," Natasha added as he approached.

"Yeah, you know how when couples have been together for a long time they start sounding like each other?"

Bruce glanced at Natasha, who darted her eyes up at him as the corner of her mouth curled. "Pretty sure Pepper's still waiting for that to happen," he muttered.

"I didn't think you'd been together for that long," Tony concluded as though Bruce hadn't commented. "Anyway, I'm expecting you to host a New Year's Eve party at _your_ home."

He looked at Bruce as he said it, perhaps anticipating Natasha's reply. "I've seen what houses look like after you've partied in them, Stark."

"Malibu was a long time ago."

"I remember one that ended even worse than Malibu."

"That was just as much Bruce's fault as mine," Tony shot back, wheeling on him. "You know I thought about crashing the party at your aunt's, but in the end I just couldn't deal with _Ohio_."

Over Tony's shoulder, Bruce sought Natasha's gaze, silently begging her for help. He hadn't seen Tony since summer, at their housewarming, and while he'd missed his friend, and seeing him now was the only part of this meeting he felt good about, he wasn't used to how dizzying it could be to interact with him.

"Ohio's not that bad," she said, her sarcastic smirk softening into a reassuring smile. "We went to Dayton Mall and the Aviation Heritage Park."

"Do they have a Gamma Radiation Heritage Park?"

Tony looked back and forth between them with the eagerness of a puppy. Bruce almost hated to disappoint him. Or maybe Natasha was rubbing off on him, and it would be fun.

"Thankfully, no," he said.

There wasn't time to watch Tony's face fall before Natasha added, waggling her brows at Bruce, "They have been discussing a Hulk monument, though."

He shook his head, gloved fingers going up to pinch the bridge of his nose, but the bone Natasha had thrown Tony wasn't enough.

He sniffed. "Until they do more than discuss, Dayton is officially the most boring Avenger hometown."

"What about if they do get one?" Bruce asked, curious in spite of himself.

" _When_ ," Natasha added, nudging his arm with her shoulder. "We agreed to talk in _whens_ not _ifs_ , remember?"

With reference to adopting children-but of course Bruce had no intention of mentioning that in front of Tony. Yet.

"Then Dayton will still be the most boring Avenger hometown. But it'll get an E for effort," Tony added, magnanimously.

"Hey, boring isn't bad," Bruce said. "I hope life stays boring."

"I must be getting old, because I hope so, too, buddy." He reached out and clasped Bruce's shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. Then he turned Bruce toward the doors and gave him a little nudge to walk. "After your New Year's Eve party."

"Can you even stay awake till midnight anymore?" asked Natasha, the click of her boot heels-the ones Bruce had given her for Christmas-echoing off the concrete.

Tony whipped his head back to glare at her. "Are you calling me _old_?"

"You just called yourself-" Bruce stopped short as Tony swung back to glare at him.

" _Not_ the same thing. Do you let her talk to you that way, Brucie? Nice beard, by the way." He reached out, as though to touch it, but Natasha distracted him.

"Nice ride, by the way. Christmas present?"

"Not for Happy, if that's the self-driving Tesla," Bruce joked. "Putting a man out of a job? At Christmastime?"

"If he'd rather drive, he'd better do it," Natasha added. "And decrease the chauffeur population."

"Um, you're doing that sounding like each other thing again," Tony said. "I'll let you take her out after the meeting. I'll even let you sit in the driver's seat."

"Of the self-driving car," Bruce said. "Gee."

Despite the sarcastic streak Tony always brought out in him, Bruce enjoyed the banter. Conversation with Natasha had felt strained since Christmas. She hadn't brought up the darker aspects of his childhood again since their argument in the mall, but she didn't have to for him to feel that the subject was still open, like a sore with the scab picked off. He didn't know how to close it back up again, except to give it enough time that it would eventually just go away. Tony brought a welcome distraction-and not just from Bruce's domestic woes, but from his worry about this meeting they'd been summoned to the Avengers Facility for.

He reconsidered that opinion when they went inside and met Vision gliding down the staircase to the conference room. "Bruce," Tony said, grabbing his arm, "you, me, and our son, all together again."

"We, er, were all together during the Infinity War."

"Really?" Natasha murmured as they stopped at the foot of the stairs. "Of all the problems with that statement, _that's_ the one you address?"

"Hello, Tony," said Vision. Even after all this time, it still jarred Bruce hear JARVIS' voice call him anything besides _Mr. Stark._ At least he still greeted him, "Dr. Banner," though Tony took issue with this.

"I know our little family's had its share of dysfunction, especially the fighting on different sides and all-"

"I had no part in that," Bruce interjected.

"-but hindsight is 20/20, so I see now that was clearly a case of adolescent rebellion brought on by your absentee father here." Tony patted Bruce's shoulder, which sagged beneath his hand with his own sigh. "Formality can't be helping to bridge the gap between us. I'm not saying you have to call him Dad, but maybe at least Bruce?"

Vision fixed Bruce with his eerily bright, unblinking gaze. "Do you want me to call you-?"

"BRUCE!" Thor hailed like the onset of a thunderstorm, striding into the lobby as the automatic doors parted for him, cape flapping behind him. "Friend of Asgard, I did not expect to be brothers-in-arms again."

His crushing embrace prevented Bruce from vocalizing anything to the contrary, though he could hear Tony in the background still offering Vision a word of paternal advice. "You don't have to go _that_ big. But the general idea is good. Warmth. Friendship. _Family._ "

* * *

There were some obvious differences between Phil Coulson as SHIELD Director and his predecessor, most of them superficial. At the moment, the one that stood out most to Natasha was that Fury would never thank anyone for attending a meeting during the holidays and promising to keep it brief so they could get back to their homes and families. Then again, if Coulson didn't have Audrey-and his in-laws- waiting for him back home, maybe he would be more like Fury.

"As most of you know," he said, getting up from his seat at the top of the conference table, pushing the swivel chair under the table as he stepped around to stand behind it, "since her retirement Ms. Romanoff has been consulting for various security organizations. Most recently for the FBI, whom she advised to hand off a case to SHIELD."

Seated to the left of Coulson's empty chair, Steve opened his mouth, presumably to protest that the Avengers weren't SHIELD.

"But this is more Avenger-level stuff than SHIELD," Jessica Jones beat him to the punch, verbal reflexes still lightning fast despite her languid feet-propped-on-the-table posture that spoke of being bored with this meeting already. "So maybe you should just skip the opening monologue and tell us who the bad guys are so we can go kick their asses and get home to the kid."

"Squirrel Girl's babysitting," Luke added.

Natasha leaned over to whisper to Bruce, his hair tickling her cheek. "We should put her on the list."

He blinked at her behind the lenses of his glasses, and the corner of her mouth tugged upward at how very like old times this was, whispering to each other during Avengers meetings. Only of course this was a different bunch of people, and back then the comments were the most awkward attempts at flirtation rather than jokes about babysitters.

"Squirrel Girl?" he whispered back.

"Oh dear _God_!" Tony exclaimed, and a glance at Coulson revealed him to be looking as though he was regretting the decision to assemble the Avengers-though it had to be noted that he didn't try to reign Stark in, and not just because he knew it would be a futile endeavor. "That nutjob-pun intended-stalked me outside the Tower once. I thought she was one of the cosplayers that was always hanging around, but she wanted me to put her on the Avengers roster. I told her not while she was dressed like a furry."

"Did you say fury?" Thor asked Bruce in a voice that was meant to be low, but still rumbled sonorously.

"Don't ask," Bruce replied, "furry culture is not a path you want to go down, trust me."

"Do you really think Asgardians of all people, are going to be put off by furries?" Natasha asked.

Bruce blinked at her again as he considered this, then tilted his head, conceding the point. Scratching his beard, he murmured, "On the other hand, _I'm_ a little bit put off by wondering whether the Loki we know and don't love has horse, worm, and wolf children."

"And that," Thor said in grim tones, "is not a path _you_ wish to descend."

"For the sake of Luke and Jessica who are currently paying for a babysitter…" Coulson attempted to bring the meeting back to order.

"All in favor of New Year's Eve at the Banner-Romanoff residence in Ithaca say yea," Tony said.

Everyone said _yea-_ except for Bruce and Natasha, of course, and Vision, who asked, "Have Natasha and Dr- _Bruce_ invited us to their residence?"

"The manners he gets from me," Bruce muttered.

"Come on, Vish," Tony said. "Where is the spirit of spontaneity you should have inherited from me?"

"To answer your question, Ms. Jones," Coulson said, "I wouldn't describe this as above SHIELD's level. But I will acknowledge that we're spread thin after the events of the past few years, and we have a nation-wide criminal network to deal with. If I may direct your attention deficit disorder to the projector…"

"That's ableist," Tony stage-whispered, but as soon as the image of a bald man with a blonde mustache in a business suit appeared on the screen behind Coulson, he said, "Hey, I know that guy."

"So do we," Cage said. "Van Lunt's got real estate ads all over Hell's Kitchen."

"Cornelius van Lunt," Coulson said with a nod. "AKA, Taurus."

"As in Ford?" Tony said. "Shitty choice of car-themed alias."

"You'd prefer he went with Tesla?" Bruce quipped.

"As in the Zodiac," Coulson attempted to steer them off the rabbit trail. "Van Lunt's obsessed with astrology-"

"He told me once at a soiree he attributes his business acumen to his astrologer," Tony said. "You got Stephen Strange on this?"

"We're in contact," Coulson replied. He looked at Steve, "Is this how your meetings always went? Interruption after interruption?"

"Pretty much."

"Explains a lot."

Miraculously, maybe taking it as some sort of challenge, Tony kept quiet while Coulson got through his presentation of the Zodiac Cartel, twelve associated but independently operating crime rings spread throughout the US, united under van Lunt. SHIELD didn't have IDs on any of the other members, except that each was born under a different astrological sign.

"Do they have any connection with the Zodiac Virus Romanoff and I recovered back in 2014?" Steve asked the question Natasha had been turning over in her mind.

In fact, SHIELD's history with the virus went farther back than that; Peggy Carter originally took it from another group using the Zodiac name back in the SSR days.

"Not that we're currently aware of," Coulson answered, "although it's not out of the realm of possibility, given the Hydra connections."

"Of course there are," Steve muttered.

"In fact, Hydra and Zodiac are business rivals," Coulson went on. "They both aim for world domination through economic and political control. Both require chaos in order to prosper."

"And this ongoing peace after isn't as good for business as wartime," concluded Steve.

Natasha watched him with interest. Once he hadn't been able to imagine a world without war; now he didn't seem to welcome the fight as much as he used to.

"Zodiac came onto SHIELD's radar when Daniel Ranford, a known Hydra operative, went dark, only for Zodiac to come up with a device we never recovered after Hydra raided the Fridge. Ranford had to have passed him the intel, if not the object itself."

An ankh-shaped object appeared on the screen.

"Looks like the Key of the Nile," Coulson said, "for those of you familiar with Egyptian artefacts…" He caught Natasha's eye; his father had been something of an Indiana Jones, before his death. "We're pretty certain it's _not_ Egyptian. Unless you mean in the sense of aliens built the pyramids. Then yes, it's very Egyptian."

"What does this object do?" Bruce spoke for the first time, although Natasha didn't miss how he'd sat up straighter and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his interest piqued.

"We don't know," Coulson said. "Whatever it does, we don't want it doing it while it's in the hands of Zodiac."

"The symbol suggests it may have originated in the Ankh Dimension," Vision said, "which is said to thrive on conflict between the forces of good and evil, in which neither side entirely or permanently defeats the other."

"Yeah," Coulson said, "we especially don't want it in Zodiac's hands if it comes from there."

The meeting didn't go on very long after that. They made plans to take teams to the cities with known Zodiac activity. Cage and Jones volunteered to take New York, with the Defenders.

"When you pay Squirrel Girl," Coulson said, "you may want to tell her to assemble the Great Lakes Avengers."

He was serious, and unlikely as it seemed, they took him seriously. Tony, on the other hand, had reached his limit.

"I'm sorry, did you just say _Great Lakes Avengers_?"

Coulson smirked. "Yeah. Barton's been training them."

Bruce looked to Natasha. "First I heard of it," she replied with a shrug. "He did always have a thing for strays."

"Let me guess, they have a big blue mutant ox on the team," said Tony. "Congratulations, Bruce. You're no longer the Avenger with the least cool birthplace. The title has been usurped by Squirrel Girl, who is no doubt from some podunk town outside Flint, Michigan."

"She's from LA," Jessica said in her usual deadpan, though there was a twist to the corner of her mouth that said she enjoyed taking Stark down a peg. Well-who didn't?

"Don't knock the Great Lakes, Stark," said Coulson. "I'm from Wisconsin originally."

Tony scowled. "You would be."

* * *

After the meeting, Tony dragged Bruce off to the labs to see the toys, which apparently included Erik Selvig and Jane Foster, who'd come with Thor to visit her old advisor. The whole thing had made Natasha feel strangely nostalgic, but instead of lingering in the conference room to catch up with old friends, she slipped off to wander the halls of Facility. Other than some repair work, not much had changed since she'd been in residence-not even the access to her room, she discovered when she passed her old quarters and, on a whim, palmed the pad and the LED flashed green, granting her entry.

Why hadn't Rogers assigned it to anyone else? Had he believed, all this time, that eventually she'd come back? She hesitated outside the unlocked door, heart inexplicably thumping, feeling somehow that if she went inside she'd be re-entering a past she didn't regret, but had left behind all the same. Was this what Bruce felt at his Aunt Susan's?

With that thought, Natasha turned the handle and pushed the door open.

It was just a room, furnished but empty of anything personal-not that she'd brought much personal when the Avengers relocated upstate-everything top of the line, but a little less luxurious, a little more institutional, than the Tower. She moved through the space, absently opening the closet, the drawers of the dresser and nightstands, the cabinets of the adjoining bathroom, when a someone rapped at the door.

"You don't have to knock, you know," she called as she turned, expecting to see Bruce through the crack where the door stood ajar.

"I think you've got the wrong man," came the slightly hoarse voice of Coulson as he pushed the door further open and ducked his head inside.

"Historically, SHIELD directors don't knock."

"It's just not possible to emulate Fury in every way. Although from personal experience, walking in on your agents isn't the best way to endear yourself."

Natasha nodded, and Coulson stepped all the way inside, glancing around the suite, before his eyes settled on her again.

"So, did the meeting tempt you to move back in and put yourself on the roster?"

She looked down at the desk she was standing by, scuffing her fingers over the glass top which had been cleaned since she moved out. If she was honest, a part of her _had_ felt the call to action-but not the compulsion for atonement which had always been her strongest drive before.

"That circus?" she quipped, meeting Coulson's eye again. "It reaffirmed my decision to retire."

"Can't blame you. It even made me consider it. Audrey would be thrilled."

"Speaking of domestic bliss…" Natasha found herself saying.

They hadn't planned to announce their news today, but if anyone deserved to know why they were sitting this one out, it was Coulson. That, and Bruce had spontaneously told Aunt Susan, and damn it, she wanted to tell someone, too. So she told him, briefly, how even though they'd stopped Avenging, they wanted to keep fighting in a new way.

"That's really wonderful." Coulson reached out for her, and as he hugged her added, "One of those days you'll look at these kids and you'll be so amazed at how far they've come. And so proud and grateful that you got to watch it."

Natasha blinked back tears, years of missions and being under his supervision at SHIELD, right up until they were on the helicarrier before the Chitauri Invasion, flashing through her memory.

"Our home study is next week," she said when he released her.

"Hence no New Year's Eve invite?"

"And probably not exactly the best support for a stable home environment if we tell them we moonlight hunting down members of a nation-wide cartel."

"It's not long-term employment anyway."

"I hope we're not letting you down," she said.

"Not at all. Those kids are the most innocent victims of the chaos Hydra and Zodiac want to create. They still need heroes. If you ask me, you and Banner are taking on the more difficult mission. But one which you're uniquely qualified for."

At his reference to innocent victims in need of heroes, her smile faltered, and she turned back to the desk. She pictured the shy, sad-eyed little boy she'd seen in Susan Banner's photo albums, in frames on the walls of her cluttered house, curled up under blankets reading the old Captain America comics that had gotten his aunts and even his father through the chaos and horror of their home.

"Natasha?"

"You know as much about Bruce's _unique qualifications_ as I do, then."

"What do you mean?"

Natasha pressed her lips against the words she wanted to blurt out to her old mentor. She couldn't unburden herself at the expense of Bruce's privacy, could she? Then again, she was starting to get the idea his reticence wasn't really about being private at all.

"I mean the Big Guy isn't his biggest monster," she released the words with her breath, "but he's never once looked me in the eye and told me he watched his own father kill his mother in a fit of rage."

"And you think that's something he needs to do?"

The rolling track of the desk drawer as she opened it seemed loud in the quiet of the room. "I didn't used to. I thought it was like how I didn't need to talk about what I did for the Red Room, because I dumped it all on the internet. The difference is, I dealt with that. Or I am dealing with it. And Bruce…I feel like I'm going into this mission without a thorough briefing."

Coulson gave her a small, sympathetic smile. "Too many relationships fall apart because someone won't talk. I watched it happen to May and Andrew. It almost happened to Audrey and me. Before I died."

He contemplated his clasped hands for a moment. The prosthetic fingers were nearly indistinguishable from the real ones, but Natasha noticed how his right thumb-the real one-unconsciously rubbed the left.

"I was on Project TAHITI," he went on. The one that resurrected him. That was… "Ironic, I know," he said, reading her mind. "What I saw made me withdraw, and not just because it was classified. Or rather I tried to withdraw, but Audrey wouldn't let me go. Not without a fight. And I did fight her on it, lest you think I'm insinuating it'll all be neat and tidy."

"You and I have both worked for SHIELD too long to think anything could be neat and tidy," Natasha replied. "Thanks, Phil."

He wished her good luck, then left. Natasha started to follow, only to glimpse out the corner of her eye that she'd left the desk drawer open. As she moved to shut it, she noticed for the first time it wasn't empty. Opening it further, she saw a bundle of envelopes shoved to the very back.

They were addressed to Bruce.

And sent by Brian Banner.


	7. Chapter 6: On Paper

_**A/N: When I said I was thinking of switching to bi-weekly posting, I didn't mean to go longer than that between updates! RL had other plans, for me and my beta…So this chapter is overdue, but hopefully well worth the wait. Thanks, as always, to**_ **malintzin** _ **for taking time out of her busy schedule to beta and brainstorm with me. Bruce's mental state in this fic is not an easy one to get into! If you want a good soundtrack for this chapter, check out Rachmaninov's**_ **Vocalise** _ **, the piece referred to in scene two. The tone works for the whole chapter. Also, Bonita Juarez is not an OC, but sort of a Marvel Easter egg. Feel free to google her and try to guess what I have planned with her. ;) Enjoy the chapter-and if you do, your feedback is most welcome and appreciated.**_

* * *

 **6\. On Paper**

"I was cleaning Bruce's room after you left, and I came across those-"

"Sorry, Susan, just a sec," Natasha interrupted as Bruce's reflection in the office window came into view behind her own. She swiveled in her desk chair to see him standing in the doorway with two steaming mugs.

"Sorry," he murmured, shuffling softly on slippered feet into the room. "Didn't mean to interrupt. Just thought you might like a cup of tea. It's so chilly today."

She reached out to take one of the mugs from him, the heat surging through her fingertips to warm her all over. Or maybe it wasn't the tea as much as his thoughtfulness, his disheveled hair and rumpled slacks and sweater combo. Somehow, just looking at him made her feel cozy. The semester hadn't begun, so technically he was still off work, but he was catching up on some research and writing in his study-slash-lab in the basement. Of course he did proper experimental research in the Cornell labs, which had recently received a generous donation from the Stark Foundation-to the consternation of MIT, who were reluctant to share an alumnus.

He started to go, but Natasha said, "You're not going to go before I thank you, are you?"

Bruce turned around, lips pressed together in one of his quiet chuckles.

"It's not a work call," she said, her face upturned as he bent to brush his lips over hers.

Straightening, Bruce pushed his glasses up his nose. "Are you talking to Aunt Susan? I thought I heard you say..." He shook his head slightly. "Sorry. That's nosy."

Natasha smiled as she brought her mug to her lips. "If I wanted it to be a secret, it would be."

Even as she said the words, she found herself thinking of the envelopes stacked neatly on the desk behind her, Bruce's name and the name of his father's prison lying face down on the light toned wood.

"She called me."

His eyebrows went up above the rims of his glasses; Natasha had been as surprised as he was when Susan, who avoided the phone as much as possible, had not only called, but not for Bruce.

"Have a nice girl talk then." He stooped to press another kiss to her cheek. "Give her my love-and tell her I'll look forward to her next letter," he added, eyes twinkling.

"Hey," Natasha called before he pulled the door all the way shut, and he poked his head back in. "Try to keep your lab from looking like it used to at the Tower, will you? The social worker's gonna want to see it tomorrow."

At first Bruce stared at her, then he saw her smirk.

"All the adoption blogs say not to worry about the house looking _too_ perfect," he said. "Also by _like it used to at the Tower_ , I assume you mean _like a place where many fires have started_? All credit for that goes to Tony."

"Whatever, I've seen your clutter when you research, Doc."

"In that case, maybe I should stay out of the kitchen tonight. I didn't make _too_ big of a mess when I made the tea, but it might be smart to order in."

"Chinese?"

When he finally ducked out of the office and closed the door all the way behind him, Natasha waited until the creak of the hardwood floor beneath his otherwise padded footsteps receded completely before she swiveled back toward the window and the scene of the snowy back yard and frozen lake beyond.

"Sorry about that, Susan," she said, bringing the phone back to her ear. "Bruce was just bringing me tea."

"He's such a sweet man," his aunt replied.

"He is. It really wasn't fair of me to give him grief about being a clutter-bug."

"He comes by it honestly." Susan sounded a little distant, and not just because her voice was coming over the phone. "As I was saying, I was cleaning the room, and I found those comic books. You remember, dear, the Captain America ones I gave him for Christmas?"

Natasha _hmm_ ed in reply, the winter landscape blurring as her own reflection, clenching her jaw and clutching her phone, came into focus.

"As soon as I saw his reaction I knew I'd made a terrible mistake," Susan went on, "but I didn't know what to say. I hope you know I never would've given them to him if I'd known it would be so upsetting. Honestly, I thought it would be a nice bit of nostalgia. He really loved them when he was a little boy..."

The letters loomed in the foreground now. "It's hard to know how Bruce is going to take this stuff. He's on lockdown about anything to do with his father."

Static crackled through the phone speaker as Susan sighed. "That's how he was as a little boy. He never would talk about what happened, not to me or to the therapists… " Her voice trailed away, as though she'd hadn't spoken into the phone, only to come back, louder. "He's _never_ talked to you about Brian?"

Natasha shook her head. Of course Susan couldn't see. She didn't say _no_ out loud, instead asked a question she knew could have no good answer. "Did he talk about him to Betty Ross?"

It came out hoarse. She took a drink of tea, but swallowing hurt.

"I assumed since they were planning to marry and have a family that Bruce had dealt with it. Just like I assumed was the case when he'd decided to be with you."

Natasha pressed her mug against her chest to absorb some of its warmth. All she felt was the cold handle against the backs of her knuckles.

"You know," Susan said, "I always thought it was…well, the Hulk that came between Bruce and Betty. Maybe it was really Brian. The unresolved rage…"

 _Big fan of the way you change into an enormous green rage monster,_ Stark's voice flitted through her mind. How did a man like Bruce become that? She'd chocked it up to ramped up aggression from the gamma but there would have to be something in there _to_ ramp up, wouldn't there? The cycle he'd worked so hard to break catching him anyway.

"Have you had any contact with Brian since he went to prison?" Natasha said into the phone.

"I mentioned music therapy, didn't I?"

"You do music therapy with him?"

"I go to Lima Hospital twice a month and do a music class. I visit Brian. We write."

 _Write_. The word was so close in Natasha's ear that if she couldn't see the office reflected in the windowpane, she might have turned to see if Susan was standing over her shoulder, looking at the letters from _Brian Banner, Lima State Hospital Inmate #968121._

"I'm not saying we're best friends and all is forgiven and forgotten," Susan said. "Can you imagine your own brother violently killing his wife in front of their little boy?"

Natasha didn't have to imagine _herself_ killing. Couldn't forget. Or forgive.

"I realize that as difficult as it is for me, for Bruce, it's...I suppose since I experienced what Brian did, I understand where he came from. At the same time, I've often wondered how it's possible we turned out so differently. Why he repeated the cycle of abuse. Or maybe it's that I see how easily I could be the one locked up in a prison for the criminally insane."

"But you made a choice," Natasha said.

"That's right, I did. And so did Brian. And he's still living with the consequences."

Unfortunately, Brian Banner wasn't the only one.

* * *

Chinese takeout cartons littered the living room coffee table, but at least the kitchen and dining room remained pristine for the impending home study. There was no question that Natasha and Bruce made a picture of a lived-in home environment facing each other from opposite ends of the sofa, feet in slippers and thick socks tangled together in the middle. A fire crackled in the hearth opposite, heating and providing most of the light in the room. Classical music played softly over the recessed speakers, an album she'd given Bruce for Christmas: Audrey Nathan performing Rachmaninoff's works for cello and piano.

If her recent chat with Coulson hadn't already been on her mind, it would be now.

"What'd Aunt Susan call you about?" Bruce asked around a bite of beef with broccoli.

Putting her chopsticks in her carton of orange chicken, Natasha sat up to reach her wine on the coffee table and took a sip. "You."

He chuffed out a laugh.

She turned back to him, looked him directly in the eye. "You left the comic books at her house."

For a moment Bruce stared at her, the meaning of this sinking in, then his shoulders sloped with his exhale.

"Damn."

He rubbed his palm across his beard.

"Should've brought them home," he said, shifting on the sofa to swing his feet down to the floor, "gotten rid of them here…"

"Is that what you'd do with any reminder of your father?"

Bruce had leaned over the table, studying the contents of the various takeout containers. At her question, Natasha saw his back tense beneath his sweater, the quiver in his jaw.

"I found something else from him when we were at the Avengers Facility," she said.

His head snapped toward her, brow furrowed. Without a word, Natasha rose from the sofa, feeling him trail her with his gaze as she strode through the living room, down the hall to her office and back again. She stood on the opposite side of the coffee table, extended her hand across it with the stack of letters, held her breath.

Gingerly, Bruce reached out to take them from her. She blocked the glow of the firelight, and his eyes seemed to darken as he read the sender's name scrawled in cramped penmanship not unlike his own.

Natasha didn't exactly expect a Hulkout, but she took careful stock of him all the same, the taut lines of his face, the tendons stretched over the backs of his hands. In the background, the cello's voice strained with sadness against the steady minor chords of the piano.

Finally, Bruce spoke. "These are post-marked five years ago." He half-swallowed the words. Not since Kolkata, all those years ago now, had he spoken to her with so much suspicion and restraint.

"They started arriving after Sokovia." Natasha felt like she was making a confession. Well-in a way she was. It was an act she'd gotten well acquainted with over the years. Just not with Bruce. "Tony forwarded them to me."

"Surprised he didn't read them."

"He wanted to." The smile she attempted was even more brittle than his joke, crumbling with the faintest twitch of her lips. "Will _you_ read them?"

"He's got nothing to say to me that I need to know," Bruce replied, pushing up from the sofa, the envelopes bending in his firm grip. "You should know that."

"How could I when you haven't told me anything about him?"

Harsh, but she'd had enough of him holding back, rebuffing any attempt by her, his aunt-hell, even Tony-to show him they cared about his past and wanted to help prevent it stealing his future, as well.

"That right there should be a pretty big clue," Bruce muttered, stalking around her to toss the letters into the fire.

* * *

Bits of white paper, envelopes and stationery, singed black and curling around the edges, remained with the ashes at the bottom of the fireplace the next day as Bruce bent to add a log to the fire. His stomach tightened, clutched with a feeling like regret, not because he wanted to know what his father had written to him, but because when he'd turned back from throwing them into the flames, Natasha had looked as if she'd been burned.

Her voice drifted to him from the kitchen: "Do you take milk or sugar?"

"A little of both, thanks," replied the social worker, who'd arrived a few minutes earlier. Natasha had taken her to the kitchen to make tea while Bruce built up the fire.

He took out the lighter and held it beneath the logs till the kindling and the remnants of the letters caught the flame. Satisfaction that they would burn completely to ash overrode the regretful feelings.

He understood why Natasha felt she should give him the letters, truly he did. What he simply could not fathom was that she'd thought the night before their first adoption home study would be an appropriate time to confront him with a tangible reminder of his own childhood hell.

"I feel warmer already," said the social worker, approaching down the hallway.

What was her name again? Facing the fire, Bruce raked his hand through his hair as he wracked his brain to recall the introduction that had been made only moments before. Something Juarez. Linda? No, it started with a B…Barbara?

"I'm from Albuquerque originally," she said. "It gets pretty cold there, but I haven't really acclimated to the long New York winters. Although I probably sound wimpy to a Russian."

"I've been in the States now longer than I lived there," Natasha replied.

"And you're from Ohio, Bruce?"

Still not having remembered her first name, Bruce turned to see Ms. Juarez enter the living room with Natasha. They both carried mugs; Natasha had two, one for Bruce, and the brush of their fingers as he took it from her was the first time they'd touched since she gave him the letters.

"Or would you rather I call you _Dr. Banner_? Only I prefer Bonita."

Oh yes, Bonita.

"That's fine," he said. "To call me Bruce, I mean."

She appeared to be in her late thirties, although the lines around her eyes might be more evident of early forties. Then again, that could be her line of work. He knew eyes like that, had avoided meeting them when people asked in kind voices whether anyone was hurting him at home. Bonita's dark ones regarded him for a moment from beneath thick, straight eyebrows, waiting for him to speak further. He glanced away, the back of his neck prickling, a growl rumbling through his mind.

"Bruce is from Dayton," Natasha answered the question he'd forgotten had been asked.

"How are the winters there?"

"Not too bad," Bruce replied.

Again that expectant look on Bonita's face.

"I know these home studies involve a lot of detailed questions, but I didn't think that would include a climate report."

Bonita took a drink of tea. "Just making small talk. If that's not your thing, don't worry, we'll get into the deep stuff soon enough."

That didn't exactly make Bruce feel better. He flinched at the unexpected brush of Natasha's fingers at the back of his wrist beneath his sweater sleeve.

"We were just in Dayton, actually," she volunteered. "We had a white Christmas."

"You still have family in Dayton?" Bonita asked.

Nodding, Bruce raised his mug to his lips.

"Bruce's Aunt Susan," Natasha said, but Bonita directed her next question to him.

"How does your aunt feel about having Avengers in the house?"

Wasn't the answer self-evident?

"Guess she didn't mind," Bruce said. "And we're _former_ Avengers."

"The neighbors volunteered to shovel and hang the Christmas lights once they recognized Bruce," Natasha said, stroking his wrist.

"Those are some nice perks," Bonita commented. "If I were your aunt, I'd have asked you to move in.

As she moved to stand closer to the fireplace, the flames flared up, sparks crackling, but she seemed unfazed as she gazed up at the art hanging over the mantel.

After a moment, she turned back to Bruce and Natasha, the smile replaced by a serious expression as she looked back and forth between them.

"I won't lie to you, a number of people in Children and Family Services don't think superheroes, currently or formerly active, should be permitted to adopt. Obviously more do than don't, or else you wouldn't have made it even this far in the process."

She paused to sip her tea, and Natasha asked, "Are you one of the ones who does?"

"I'm not opposed to the idea, being…rather closely acquainted with some powered individuals myself."

Bonita took another drink, and Bruce glanced at Natasha. Did she have any idea what Bonita meant by that? Or was he only imagining the undertone of meaning in the social worker's voice?

"Whether you two are as good of candidates as you appear to be on paper, of course, will depend on my getting to know you better."

 _On paper_ …Bruce's gaze drifted past Bonita to the fireplace behind her, where the dancing flames transformed his father's written words to ash. The back and forth movement of Natasha's fingertips suddenly felt irritating to his skin. He pulled his hand away from her, shoving it in his pants pocket. In his periphery, he saw her look down, and he almost withdrew his hand again and took hers. But he didn't.

"So!" Bonita went on, in a more upbeat tone. "Do you think we could start with a tour of this beautiful house?"

Natasha almost eagerly left his side. "We've only bought it last summer, so we're still in that new homeowner honeymoon stage where we're thrilled to show people around. Aren't we?" She glanced over her shoulder at Bruce, who _hmm_ ed a vague response.

He trailed behind the women, the rumble of his own thoughts louder than their voices as Natasha played tour guide. How could she be so at ease, opening her home, her _life_ , to the scrutiny of a stranger with the authority to deem her unfit to fulfil one of their deepest held dreams? Maybe she was acting-after all, she'd been trained to be and interact with anyone. It was a skill he'd often envied, having always tended toward shyness himself. This went way beyond social awkwardness, though. It was completely against how he'd been accustomed to living, with doors closed and windows shuttered.

What was it Natasha had said to him? _Sometimes I feel like your doors aren't just shut, they're locked, and you've thrown away the key._

It had pissed him off then, and it pissed him off again now. It just wasn't _fair_ , when she knew better than anyone what it cost to be exposed, and how much more he'd opened to her than he had to anyone in years.

"This is one of the rooms we've set aside for a kid," he heard her say as she stepped into a guest room and flicked on the light.

"Or two," Bonita remarked. "This is big."

Probably it seemed bigger because there wasn't much in it: a bed and an empty dresser and a bookcase containing some of his favorite childhood books, mainly _Hardy Boys_ mysteries.

"Training them early in the ways of the Force?" Bonita indicating the set of original _Star Wars_ trilogy posters tacked on one wall.

"Oh, um…" Bruce raked his free hand through his hair. "Those were mine when I was a kid."

"How old were you when the first one came out?"

"'77…Around seven or eight, I guess."

In fact there was no guesswork involved. Susan had taken him, and his connection with the orphaned protagonist who lived with his aunt and uncle had been instantaneous, only deepening three years later with the sequel's reveal that Darth Vader was Luke Skywalker's father. By the time he was thirteen he hadn't been sure what to make of the redemption arc, but Luke's heroic journey despite his dark family legacy had remained inspirational.

Was this the sort of thing they wanted him to open up about? It sounded so maudlin. Not to mention navel-gazey.

"Those don't have to stay up," he muttered, fiddling with the corner of the dresser.

"We hung them because it seemed best to acknowledge up front what huge dorks we are," Natasha said, and through his sweater he felt her hand come to rest in the small of his back. He hated that he tensed.

"All the kids at St. Agnes, where I do most of my placements, are crazy about _Star Wars_ ," said Bonita. "Of course a couple of movies might not be quite so impressive considering to the fact that you two have fought actual star wars."

"We got to go to the premiere of _Episode IX_ ," Natasha went on. Tony worked it out for them. "In costume."

She'd been Leia, complete with cinnamon bun wig, while Bruce had opted to be old Jedi Luke because he had the beard for it.

"That was mostly so we wouldn't be recognized," he said.

Bonita didn't look like she bought it.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Bruce," she said as they left the room, "but I'm getting a vibe that maybe you wish you were in disguise right now. Are you always this quiet, or are you just nervous?"

Heat flooded his face, and _not_ a flush of embarrassment. "I-"

"You certainly wouldn't be the first person to be," she went on. "It's an invasive process, from start to finish, and there's just no way around that. Please try to remember that I'm not here to judge you or any of the skeletons in your closet. I _am_ here to advocate for these kids, and to ensure they're placed in the best homes for them. Which I would hope is what you want for them, too, whether that's here or somewhere else?"

"Absolutely," Natasha said, voice creaking.

"Of course," Bruce mumbled.

They'd finished showing her around the house, which Bonita announced meant the end of her visit.

"Thank you for opening your home to me," she said as she put on her coat in the front hall. "If it makes you feel any better…" She caught Bruce's eye. "…I really liked what I saw. Especially that you have plenty of designated places to do your homework."

"Our homework?" Natasha asked. "Or the kids'?"

Bonita opened her bag on the console table and took out two packets which she handed to each of them. "These are questions that will guide you as you write your autobiography. We'll discuss them over the course of our next few visits, but it can be helpful to reflect on them, even to write about them before."

"We will," Natasha said. "We were both exceptional students."

She gave Bruce a gentle nudge with her elbow as he perused the questions, apparently teasing him about his studiousness.

 _Describe the family you grew up in…_ _Was there any drug or alcohol dependency in your family history? If so, how has this affected you?...Describe the discipline and child rearing practices your parents used._

"I'm sure you were," Bonita said.

 _Were_ being the operative word. If there was one thing Bruce was sure of now, it was that he was going to prove far from exceptional.

"The question I want you to think most about is: why do two superheroes want to adopt a child?"


	8. Chapter 7: Behind Bars

**7\. Behind Bars**

Bruce jumped at her touch.

It had only been the lightest of touches on his shoulder, to let him know she was there with him in his study-slash-lab, but nevertheless made him jolt and tighten his shoulders.

"Sorry," Natasha said, taking a step back as he pulled off his headphones and swiveled away from his computer monitors, blinking up at her blearily behind the lenses of his glasses. "I wasn't trying to sneak up on you. I did knock and try to get your attention."

"Guess I had the volume up too loud."

She _hmm_ ed her agreement, hearing the muffled soprano warble. It was always opera when Bruce he was most stressed-or when he was coming down from a Hulkout-and their first home visit from their social worker, Bonita Juarez, had definitely been that. He glanced down at the headphones in his hands, then turned back to his computer to pause the music. Natasha made a conscious effort not to look at the files open on his screens, focusing instead on the shelf mounted on the wall above it; their faces grinned down at her from a photo, dressed in matching Captain America t-shirts on the Fourth of July. It had been one of the first times he'd mentioned his childhood to her, even if it was only an oblique reference to watching fireworks in the park with his aunts and cousin, an inferred desire for a normal, loving family.

Despite his reaction to her previous touch, she took the chance it was only that she'd caught him unawares, not that it wasn't welcome, and placed her hands on his shoulders, massaging her thumbs deep into the base of his neck as he hunched over his desk. He didn't tense-not any more than he already was-but he didn't relax, either.

"You want to think about dinner soon?" she asked.

"Hungry?"

"I could eat."

Beneath her fingers, Bruce's neck muscles flickered as he turned his head half toward her. "There's leftover Chinese."

"Only enough for one of us."

"You can have it if you want."

Natasha's hands went still at his implication: he wasn't going to eat with her. Not wanting her disappointment to show, she made herself resume the massage, although her fingers felt unusually weak against the knots.

"You sure?"

"I'm not especially hungry. I want to try and get some more work done."

Bruce had been holed up in his basement work space ever since the home visit. As he returned his attention to the dual monitors, Natasha's curiosity won out over her respect for his. Her own appetite diminished as her heart sank even deeper into her belly.

"Writing lectures?"

Bruce nodded. The screen reflected a twist of his lips that was more grimace than grin. "Trying to get organized before the semester starts."

"Good idea, with everything else we have going on."

She let that dangle for a moment as she battled with herself about whether to keep walking on eggshells.

Fuck it, Bruce was the Hulk. There was a time and a place for smashing, they'd proved time and time again. This was one of those times.

"I got started on my autobiography," she said.

That made Bruce's shoulders tense, so it came as something of a surprise to Natasha when he actually picked up the conversation thread.

"How's it going?"

Natasha released her breath, dug her fingers deep into the tissue along his shoulder blades. "Not bad. Made it through the first section. Easy to answer all those questions about how you were raised when you weren't."

More than once she'd been tempted to write _N/A-brainwashed by former Soviets for the glory of Mother Russia_.

"If you want my help with yours," she went on, "you know I'm-"

"Natasha, why are we doing this to ourselves?"

At first she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly. She replayed his voice over in her head until the words registered, then withdrew her hands from him as he brought his own up to take off his glasses, pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Family history questions aside," he said, fingering the corner of the home study packet that lay on his desk, serving as a coaster, "what about that one Bonita left us with?"

"Why do we want to adopt?"

"Why do two _superheroes_ want to adopt." Bruce punched the buttons to shut off his computer monitors and pushed back in his chair, the wheels grinding against the plastic floor protector pad, to stand. He faced her, leaning back against the edge of his desk. "It just feels like a set-up to me. A trap."

Bruce and his fear of cages, though it had been years since anyone had threatened to put him in one, or even on a most-wanted list. If only he could see that he was holding himself captive.

"Obviously she intends for us to realize we see adoption as another form of saving the world," he said. "Or of redeeming our own pasts, or something like that."

"But that's _not_ why," Natasha protested.

Or was it?

The question gnawed at her as she left him, as she rewarmed the leftover Chinese and ate it from the cartons, standing in front of the sink and staring out at the snowy back yard bordered by the silhouettes of barren trees. Such a wonderful back yard for children, the realtor had said when the toured the place, and they'd indulged fantasies of looking out at snowmen they built.

Maybe she'd asked too much of Bruce. Maybe she'd pushed him into it. Or maybe he'd simply not realized the depth of his own issues until the process forced him to dig in.

There was only one way to know for certain.

She dropped the takeout containers in the trashcan under the sink, pulled her phone out of her back pocket, and dialed Susan Banner.

* * *

"This isn't your first time visiting a prison, is it?" Susan asked as the Lima State Hospital loomed at the end of the country road, a sprawling facility from the beginning of the previous century which, if only it were on an island, would have made the perfect setting for an asylum horror movie. Although the contrast of the red brick against the low iron grey clouds and the frosty farmland in which it stood lent enough of a Gothic appeal.

Relaxing her grip on the steering wheel, Natasha glanced at Bruce's aunt in the passenger seat.

"I mean," Susan went on, "I just assumed, in your…line of work…"

"Which line of work is that?"

As Susan spluttered, Natasha gave in to a slight grin.

"Just giving you a hard time," she said.

Relief washed over Susan's features at not having to say the word _assassin._ A little shock went through Natasha's chest. Although a number of people knew what her past life had entailed, few of them were comfortable actually putting a name to it.

"And to answer your question, no." She fixed her eyes on their destination, the black spiral of razor wire just visible at the top of the electrified chain link fence as they came nearer. "It's not the first time I've visited a prison."

"Oh good. So you know what to expect."

The whole point of this, in fact, was that Natasha _didn't_ know what to expect, but she understood what Susan meant, and nodded.

For a moment they drove on in silence, then Susan asked, "Have you ever…been _in_ prison? I mean…as an inmate?" Immediately, without giving Natasha a chance to answer, she laughed nervously, reaching up to ruffle her hair in back in a gesture she'd seen from Bruce a million times, "I'm sorry, that's incrediblynosy…I don't know what possessed me to even ask-"

"My whole life story's on the Internet."

"Well, I only know how to use Amazon," Susan replied with a smile. "But really, dear, I don't mean to pry."

"You're not prying," Natasha said. "I don't mind."

She wasn't just being polite; she truly didn't mind Susan asked her questions in the most genuinely curious way. It was endearing. And the openness made a nice change from how closed-off Bruce was being. The one thing she hadn't asked any questions about was Natasha's phone call saying she wanted to come with her on the next visiting day. Not, _Bruce isn't coming with you?_ or _Does Bruce know you're going to do this?_ or _Are you planning to tell him?_

"Excluding going under deep cover," Natasha replied, "I've thankfully never been in prison."

Not for any of her own crimes. Hell, she'd never even been arrested for any of them, unless you counted being brought in by Clint and under Fury's watch till she proved herself reformed and loyal to SHIELD.

"Was it one of those plea bargains? You worked for SHIELD and they dropped the prison term?"

"Something like that." If you substituted _automatic death sentence_ for _prison term_.

She hadn't thought she'd be meditating on her sins as they drove through the gates to enter the prison complex. Brian Banner had killed one person. What was the Black Widow's body count?

No...it wasn't her first time visiting a prison, but as she stored her handbag and coat in a locker and held her arms out for a guard to sweep over her with a metal detector, her stomach twisted more nauseatingly than it ever had back then. Susan's familiarity with the facility and its personality didn't help matters as they filed down a hallway with the other visitors, fluorescent bulbs flickering and buzzing overhead, walls painted half sickly green, half dirty cream, linoleum that had once been white now hopelessly yellowed, the typical institutional style of these plays, neither fully a prison nor hospital. In fact it made it all worse that Susan pointed out a common room which seemed better suited to a nursing home, where she conducted the music therapy session with the patients, because it made it all seem _normal_.

This could have been her life. Natasha would rather have been executed by whatever means than live out her days in a peeling cell with no way to atone for her sins.

 _Why do we want to adopt? Are we trying to redeem our pasts?_ She shoved Bruce's voice to the back of her mind as they came to the visitation booths. She definitely wouldn't have been able to bear talking to visitors behind panes of glass. It had been hard enough to face her own reflection in the mirror. Not that there had been anyone who would have visited her.

They seated themselves on metal stools bolted to the floor. "They're always so cold," Susan murmured.

A muffled buzz from the other side of the glass signaled the door from the cell block unlocking, then a guard strode through, followed by shuffling inmates in baggy orange. Susan waved, and a tall man with buzzed grey hair nodded in acknowledgment, unable to gesture because of the cuffs on his wrists. Dark eyes narrowed on Natasha.

She leaned toward Susan and asked quietly, "Is that one of your music therapy patients?"

"Dear, that's _Brian_ ," Susan replied. She went on as Natasha tried not to show her astonishment as Bruce's father continued to stare at her in suspicion, "I suppose you didn't expect someone so tall."

Well, no, she hadn't. The slightly hunched posture from the shackles made it hard to tell, but he must have been over six feet tall. There _was_ a resemblance to Bruce, in the bone structure and the fullness of the lips, the salt and pepper hair that would have been curly if it weren't close cropped, the brown eyes behind the lenses of the dark plastic framed glasses. But it was the utter lack of warmth in Brian Banner's eyes that differentiated him the most from his son, not his height, the hatred in them. Natasha had seen a lot of hateful eyes.

Alarmingly, she remembered the Hulk's eyes when he'd chased her on the helicarrier.

She didn't allow herself to look away from the gaze he kept trained on her. Although the guard released Brian's wrists from the chain around his waist, the cuffs were left on, causing him to move awkwardly to seat himself on the metal stool on his side of the glass and pick up the telephone receiver.

"Who's this, Susie?" a smoky baritone crackled in her ear.

"Brian, this is…" Susan hesitated, casting a sidelong glance at Natasha, unsure of how to introduce her.

"I'm Natasha Romanoff," she introduced herself.

Brian scuffed the thumb of the hand not holding the phone over the silvery stubble on his chin. " _Romanoff_. There's something familiar about you. Where have I see you, _Ms. Romanoff_? Couldn't have been when I was outside. You're too young." A puff of static might have been a laugh, though there was no amusement in his eyes. "You're too young to have even been _born_ when I was out."

"Natasha is Bruce's partner," said Susan.

" _Bruce_ 's partner…"

The way he growled Bruce's name had roughly the same effect on Natasha as nails on a blackboard. She sat rigid on the stool, refusing to allow the shudder to ripple down her spine.

" _Partner_ ," Brian repeated. "In business? In _crime_?" His lips stretched apart, baring his teeth in the mockery of a grin.

"We have worked together," Natasha said, "but Susan's referring to a domestic partnership."

"In my day we called that _shacking up_. You know Susie won't even tell me where my son lives now?" Brian's eyes swung toward his sister, heavy-lidded and accusatory. The thumb continued to rasp over his beard. "Says that's his story to tell. The problem is, he hasn't told it. Never visits. Never even writes."

"Is that why you stopped writing to him?" Natasha asked, impulsively.

For a moment, Brian continued to stare at Susan, brows knitting together in confusion, only to draw apart again as he turned his head slowly back toward Natasha.

"I did send him letters at that Avengers Tower. _That's_ where I know you from." His wrist twisted against the cuff as he pointed his index finger at her. "You're an Avenger. Which one are you?"

"The Black Widow."

"And what's your special ability, my dear?"

That she could think of at least a dozen ways to murder him right now, glass and guards be damned, and escape, without breaking a sweat.

Apparently not really caring for an answer, or already knowing it, Brian said, "With a name like that, I guess I should worry for my boy's premature demise. Though from what I understand, he's damned near impossible to kill. Pretty hard to believe, if you knew what a pathetic little pussy he was."

"Brian!"

He ignored his sister's outburst, leaned over the table in front of him toward the glass, as though daring Natasha to react the same way. Locked up forty years, and he was still the bully, the abuser, using his body language to intimidate even though he was shackled and separated from them by shatterproof glass. She stared back, drawing slow, deep breaths, refusing even to blink.

Abruptly, he sat back, cuffs clinking as he shifted the phone to the other ear. "Then again, I always knew there was something wrong with Bruce. That the world would see him someday for the freak he is. Didn't I, Susie?"

In the fluorescent light, tear streaks shone on her cheeks. "For God's sake, he's your _son_. And a good man."

"The Harlem Terror…Johannesburg…Asgard…They call _me_ a monster, and I only killed one person."

"Your own wife," Natasha said. "Bruce's mother."

Brian's eyes locked with hers. "Yes."

"Do you regret it?"

Again, that look of confusion, the furrow above the bridge of his nose that made her think of the Hulk. He cradled the telephone receiver in the crook of his neck, freeing up his hands to awkwardly remove his glasses.

"I _admit_ it," he said. "I accept my punishment for it."

"Those aren't the same things."

"My genius son loves you for your mind, eh?"

Brian made a show of sweeping his eyes considerably downward from her face, and Susan made a sound of disgust as he leered. Natasha's gaze, however, was on his hand, watching the tendons flex across his white knuckles as his fist tightened around his glasses until they snapped like a twig. Although they were already broken, he continued to squeeze them as he went on, a vein bulging in his temple.

"The only thing I regret is that I didn't kill that little freak, too, while there was still a chance. Then they'd all be calling _me_ an Avenger. Saving the world from monsters, isn't that right?"

Blood squeezed between his fingers, a droplet falling onto the stainless steel table as suddenly he unfolded like a six-foot jackknife and lunged. Susan cried out as she and Natasha reflexively leapt back from the telephone receiver he swung at the partition, even though they both knew it was unbreakable and two guards dragged him back before he could strike twice. Wrestling the makeshift weapon from him proved more of a challenge as he curled his big frame around and bellowed into it, voice audible through the two receivers the women had dropped, swinging by their cords.

"Get away from him while you have the chance, Black Widow! Monsters are the Banner family's only legacy!"

* * *

A distant groan, buckling metal underscored by the brief grind of a motor, reached Bruce's ears as he lay in bed. The garage door opening. He turned his head on the pillow, squinting to read the dim green glow of the digital clock without his glasses. 12:36, and Natasha was finally home.

He didn't get up, just lay there, breathing into the pillow, listening.

Car tires squeaked on the cement floor. The engine rumbled, then it died. A door thumped, then another, followed by the garage door gain, shutting with a resonant _boom_. They needed to have someone out to look at that.

"JEEVES, remind me in the morning to call a garage door person," he spoke into the dark.

"Would you like me to compile a list of recommendations, Dr. Banner?" intoned the AI. "I could rank them based on customer reviews."

"Sure. Thanks."

"And I've informed Ms. Romanoff you retired to bed. "

"Great."

Bruce still didn't move to get up. He watched the blur of the alarm clock shift as the minutes passed without Natasha coming to their room. He pictured her taking her boots off in the mudroom, hanging up her coat and scarf, padding virtually silently through the kitchen in her sock feet to glance at the mail on the bar, fill a glass of water for her bedside table. In case she woke up in the night with the urge to make a huge mess, she'd joked ever since she read it in an _Onion_ headline that had tears of laughter streaming down both their faces.

They hadn't shared much laughter the past few days. They hadn't shared much of anything at all, even meals, as Bruce made excuses to be out of the house, mostly that he needed to use the university library and labs. Natasha hadn't told him about plans to be out today, but her car wasn't in the garage when he got home earlier that evening. He'd made himself a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup, watched TV and tried not to think about the fact that she hadn't left a note or texted about her whereabouts, but his stomach had tied itself into such a knot that things had come to this between them that he hadn't been able to eat more than a few bites.

It was still there now, or maybe it was hunger. He'd almost talked himself into getting out of bed, going to the kitchen to make them both tea and cinnamon toast and to talk things out, when the door handle turned, followed by the creak of hinges as Natasha opened it just far enough to step through, then pushed it closed behind her.

Bruce didn't move, didn't breathe, not pretending to be asleep, but listening for signs of her coming further into the room. The clock emanated just enough of a glow that he could make out her silhouette standing there while her eyes adjusted to the dark.

"You're home," he said.

His voice put her into motion, a quiet clicking sound indicating she'd brought her cup of water, ice rattling against the glass. He tracked her form around the foot of the bed to the bathroom on the opposite side of the room. "I was getting worried."

"You never called."

There was a faint echo as she stepped into the bathroom, but what got Bruce was the pinched quality of her voice in addition to the usual rasp. Not accusatory, exactly, though it did put him on the defensive. She hadn't called, either. If she was waiting for him to make the first move…

He rubbed his palms over his face, rubbing his eyes before he raked his fingers through his hair, tugging hard at the roots as the pain in his scalp relieved the pressure. Natasha didn't play games.

"I figured if you left without saying anything it was for a reason," he replied. "You needed some space."

Natasha said nothing. He heard a drawer open, and then the buzz of her electric toothbrush for the next two minutes. She left the light off the entire time she brushed her teeth and washed her face.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she stood at the foot of the bed and said, "I looked a man in the eyes today and wanted to kill him in cold blood."

 _Jesus._ Heart racing as if it had just been defibrillated out of arrest, Bruce sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp. Blinking against the brightness, he was slightly relieved to see Natasha was not wearing her Black Widow uniform, though she was all in black-a leather blazer over black jeans. In one hand she held her water glass.

Nevertheless, he said, "I heard about some energy weapon in Chicago. Some of the team were involved. You weren't…?"

Hollows appeared beneath her cheekbones as she pressed her lips together. "Of course not. We retired so we can live a normal life and start a family."

She turned away, trudged to the seating area in front of the bay window, and Bruce silently cursed himself for insinuating that she'd gone behind his back. Still, she'd gone _somewhere_ today, done _something_ that made her sink onto the armchair as though pressed down by a physical weight on her shoulders. He ought to get up and go to her, comfort her, but he couldn't seem to make the connection between his brain and his body.

"Just…you talked about wanting to kill a man. What was I supposed to think?"

Her eyes flicked up to him, a flash of green. "That you're in love with a killer. I've assassinated men, women, _children_ , none of whom deserved to die. I never asked questions. I just did what I was paid to do."

"What you were _made_ to do."

Bruce rubbed his eyes again, pressing the heels of his hands into the sockets. Where was this sudden onset of guilt coming from? Had the adoption autobiography gotten to her at last? His hand fell away from his face, and he sank back against his pillow. God, this had been such a fucking horrible idea. All the progress they'd made together, undone in a few hours with a social worker. Go directly to Jail…Do not pass Go…Do not collect $200...

"You never did read my files on the web, did you?"

The pillowcase rustled as Bruce shook his head. "That's your story to tell."

When she didn't reply, he looked over and saw her hunched like _The Thinker._ With Herculean effort, he scooted across the bed, swung his legs over the edge, and stood in front of her chair.

"Natasha…" He wasn't sure what to say. He reached out, touched her cheek as she sat with her chin on her fist. She leaned into his palm, then tilted her face up to him.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is...If I expected you to open up about your past, I should have been more open about mine."

"You don't need to. I don't need to know all the details of what you've done."

"What if I did something that affects you?"

"Something that…? I don't follow."

Natasha pushed up from her chair, leaving Bruce with his hand still hovering where her face had been. Her body brushed against him as she sidestepped to stand in front of the window, though the curtains were drawn. She picked up her glass of water from the table, took a drink, and set it down again.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she said, "I was in Ohio today."

Bruce felt his hackles rise. "Ohio? Why'd you go...? Is Aunt Susan-?"

"Susan's fine. Upset, but…"

"Upset."

Natasha's chest rose and fell as she drew a deep breath and released it. She turned to him, looked him straight in the eye, and said, "I went with her to the prison. To visit your father."

Bruce heard the words, but didn't understand. Had she spoken in Russian? He replayed them in his mind, and this time, it translated the syllables filtered by his ears.

A laugh barked painfully from his throat.

"You went to the prison. To visit…" _My father._ The words stuck, unspeakable. He'd choke if he tried to utter them. "…that monster? And you didn't tell me?"

"I'm telling you now."

Her voice sounded so small-or was that because he couldn't hear her over the roar that had begun in his head?

"After the fact," he flung back at her. "Better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, huh? Not that we have that kind of relationship."

"No. We don't."

"Then why would you…?"

Words were not coming easily to him now, neither was breath. His lungs heaved. He wanted to shout, to rage nonverbally. _Betray me_. Why would she betray him? He was in a freefall, flailing and confused as he had been when she kissed him, then pushed him into a cistern.

"Because I needed to know what's standing between you, between _us_ , having a family," Natasha said. "I shouldn't have gone behind your back, I know. I know you're angry."

"Angry? Yeah. I sure as hell am _angry_."

 _That's my secret, Cap…_ It had been years since he'd felt that tingle between his shoulder blades, at the base of his neck, an itch. His t-shirt felt uncomfortably tight.

"Bruce…"

She reached for his hand, but he jerked away. Rather than her warm, soft skin, his knuckles connected with the cold of her water glass, sending it flying off the table, soaking his feet and the second chair as it shattered on the hardwood floor. For a moment they both stared at the mess, then Bruce lurched past her, stumbling over the ottoman as his control over his body slipped away.

"I have to go out for a bit. I can't be here right now."

* * *

 _ **A/N: I almost feel I should apologize for the extreme angst of this chapter, but I won't, because I'm an angst fiend and I've been looking forward to writing this chapter for a long time. ;) These were actually the scenes that inspired the whole fic! If you need cheering up, go eat some leftover Valentine chocolate if you've got any and read**_ **Will (MC)U Be Mine?** _ **co-authored with my faithful beta reader, vladnyrki**_ **.** _ **And if you don't hate me for the way I introduced Brian Banner, I'd love your feedback! (Even if it is just to say what a monster he is. ;)) Thanks to everyone following this fic, and as my writing schedule has settled a bit, I should be getting back to more frequent posting for the remainder of the fic. (We're over halfway there, I think!)**_


	9. Chapter 8: Take Me Back To the Start

**8\. Take Me Back To the Start**

The client chairs were too low for the desk, giving Bruce the distinct feeling as he peered slightly upward to make eye contact with the woman seated behind it that he was a kid in the principal's office. It didn't help that he associated visits to the principal with social workers. He'd never been a troublemaker at school, yet the trouble at home always seemed to follow him there, in the form of concerned teachers who never failed to notice when he showed up with suspicious bruises and even more suspicious excuses for how he acquired them.

"How's the autobiography going?" asked Bonita Juarez. "Have you had a chance to begin?"

"Some," Natasha replied, the monosyllable hoarse.

Bonita looked to Bruce. He shifted in his chair. Uncrossed his legs, then re-crossed them again, the other leg on top this time. Bent to scratch his ankle where it rested on his knee and his slacks rode up. His gaze flickered out the windows behind her to the red brick high rise across the street, a typical Manhattan view.

"Honestly," he replied as he sat back again, "I've been spending most of my time preparing lectures for the semester. Classes resume on Monday."

Evading social workers' questions came naturally to him- _See, Natasha?_ _It's not just you_ -and he had a feeling Bonita was probably as accustomed to being on the receiving end of the tactic as he was to using it. However, she gave an understanding nod and picked up the latte they'd brought her from Blue Spoon, a coffee shop a couple blocks away, which felt so much like bribery.

"What do you teach?"

"Um…" Bruce hadn't expected her to be conversational. "A few senior-level biochem courses, and I'm teaching graduate level seminars on high energy particle physics."

Bonita sipped her coffee, then looked to Natasha. "Was that English?"

"We have some communication difficulties from time to time," she replied without smiling, and Bonita's faded, too, as she set down her coffee and clasped her hands on her desk.

She'd had a manicure since their last home study, Bruce noticed, black with red, orange and yellow flames extending downward from the tips. "Beware," she said, noticing his stare, "some of the girls at St. Agnes are aspiring nail technicians."

"That would save us some money," Natasha said, not quite injecting humor into her voice. "I'm referring to Bruce's trips to the salon."

Was that in reference to the beard? He curled his fingers around the arm of his chair, reining in the impulse to rub his hand over his chin.

"The autobiography's proving difficult for you," Bonita stated, rather than asked. "Congratulations- you're just like everybody else who's ever gone through the adoption process."

"Does everybody reach this point and want to put the brakes on the whole thing?" Natasha asked.

Smile returning, small, sympathetic, Bonita replied, "I wouldn't say everybody, but some do. The invasiveness of the questions can make you feel like it, but truly we're not out to weed out the unsuitable."

"Isn't that exactly what you're out to do?" Bruce blurted out.

Bonita raised her eyebrows. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha's hand start to move, as if to reach out for his hand, only to curl around her armrest instead.

They hadn't touched since she'd reached out to him and he'd jerked away from her, shattering a glass of water in the process. Only on accident, if they happened to bump each other in bed. He didn't know whether he was relieved or not that she refrained again now. The only thing he was certain of was that he hadn't felt this much distance between them when he was in space.

The lapse in conversation stretched, and the itch began to claw its way up the edges of his shoulder blades again as the small sounds of the office assaulted him-the tick of the wall clock behind them, the intermittent knocking in the radiator, the muted blare of horns from the traffic outside. He hadn't actually transformed when he'd walked out of the house, but he had been in a state of sensory overload ever since Natasha told him about her trip to Ohio.

Finally, Bonita said, "There's no rush on the home study process. We want our adoptive parents to be as ready as they possibly can be. However long it takes them to get there."

That was the point. Bruce wasn't sure how much longer he _could_ contain this.

"We're in over our heads," Natasha said. "Our past traumas…"

Bruce's shoulders cinched so hard that they began to ache.

Thankfully, she abandoned the dangling thought, changing tacks when she spoke again. "It feels like this process has undone a lot of the progress we made in functioning normally."

"May I suggest you adjust your language?" Bonita said. "Instead of _normal_ or not, refer to it as functioning in a healthy way? You're not abnormal."

Bruce let out a sharp bark of a laugh. "I don't know what your definition of abnormal is, when one of us turns into a big green monster." He felt Natasha frowning at him. "But I would agree about the status of our current relationship health."

He glanced over at her, hoping to convey that at last they'd found a point of agreement, but when he saw her fold her arms across her chest, hunching in on herself, he wished he hadn't looked or spoken.

Bonita's chair creaked as she tilted back so she could open a desk drawer and see its contents. "The adoption process can strain the healthiest of relationships. That's why I often recommend seeing a couples' therapist anyway. I'll give you the number of one I highly recommend."

She slid the drawer shut and pushed a business card across the desk. This, too, felt like an experiment. Which of them would reach for it first, and thus demonstrate greater concern about the state of their relationship?

They did at the same time, hands brushing. Natasha looked up at Bruce, green eyes bright with emotion as her gaze held his for a moment. Then she withdrew her hand, leaving Bruce to take the card.

As he pocketed it without looking at the therapist's name, Bonita spoke again:

"You don't have to work through the questionnaire in order. If you get stuck on a question, move on to something else and come back to it later. Like taking an exam," she added, looking at Bruce.

"Just what I tell undergrads," he felt obligated to reply, and reached for his own cup of tea on the desk, though he felt through the paper cup it had gone tepid now.

"For example, the section on your relationship. How did you two meet?"

Aunt Susan asked that question just a few weeks ago, over tea and cinnamon toast in her dated but cozy kitchen, and he and Natasha had jointly narrated it as if they were summarizing the plot of a screwball romantic comedy.

There was nothing funny about the answer she gave now. "I was sent by SHIELD to recruit Bruce to the Avengers Initiative. In 2012, just before the Battle of New York."

"Was it love at first sight?"

More like eyes narrowed in suspicion, predators circling their prey, Bruce thought.

"That took some time," Natasha replied, quietly.

"Friends to lovers?"

"Once we learned to trust each other."

"And ourselves," Bruce added.

His gaze had dropped again to his ankle, and he noticed a loose thread in his sock, a slight pull in the knit.

Now, it wasn't himself, or the Other Guy, he didn't trust.

"So you saved the world together, developed a friendship based on mutual respect and trust, fell in love, saved the world together several more times along the way, bought a house, and now want to start a family."

"Can you ghost write our autobiography?" Bruce asked.

"Do you have plans to marry?"

Just when he thought this meeting couldn't get any worse… "Are you conspiring with my aunt?"

"I think what Bruce means," Natasha said, "is that marriage isn't a requirement for adoption, is it?"

"Of course not," Bonita replied. "We regularly place children with unmarried couples. There are many ways to express commitment outside of traditional marriage. Many reasons why partners choose to do so."

She regarded them for a moment, as though expecting them to state their reasons. Seconds ticked by on the clock, and neither did. Bruce hadn't known his reasons when Susan posed the same question to him, and he didn't know now, either. The errant thread on his sock beckoned to him to pull at it. He resisted, knowing he'd only rend it, and he really liked this pair.

"I'm sorry," he said, taking off his glasses instead, tucking them into his breast pocket as he met Bonita's eye, "do we really need to get into this right now? We asked to meet with you because we feel we were mistaken about this being the right time for us to start our family."

"I'm very sorry you're both feeling so discouraged at the moment." Bonita stressed the word _both_ , looking to Natasha as if to confirm this was, indeed, the case.

Discouraged wasn't exactly the feeling. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, the collar of his shirt itching.

"We don't have to continue this meeting," Bonita went on, "or schedule our next one."

"I'm not sure you understand," Bruce began. "I meant-"

"But I won't close your case," she said over him. "It would be a shame to have gotten this far and have to start over."

* * *

"People just keep bringing up marriage at the wrong time," Natasha said as they exited the office building after the meeting.

Bruce didn't respond except to grunt, which might just as easily have been at the cold as her comment. He turned up the collar of his coat, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and started up the street. Natasha didn't question his decision not to hail a cab, didn't signal for one herself. Just fell into step with him as though she understood his need to move in the open air, no matter how bracing it was. Maybe she'd felt constrained, too. She looked it, arms crossed, huddled against the cold. Or it could've been that she didn't know what to do with her hands when one of them wasn't twined together with his.

"The thing is," she went on before he could convince himself to sleep his hand out of his pocket and take hers, "I'm starting to wonder if there will ever be a right time for it. Kind of like how there's never a right time to talk about your father."

"Natasha-"

Bruce caught himself just before he said, _Not now, not here in the middle of Manhattan_ , which would have proved her point. He puffed out a breath, watched the roll of the steam in the air.

"Nobody bugs Tony about marrying Pepper," he muttered.

"Tony being monogamous is more than anyone ever hoped for."

Another huff, this time a chuckle. "Fair point."

Silence lapsed as they came to a red light, where a crowd waited for the signal to change, and he hoped she'd drop the subject. As soon as they crossed to the other side of the street and their walking speed dropped to a more leisurely pace, Natasha resumed it.

"When Susan asked if we had marriage plans, you said it made you feel like she was questioning your commitment to me."

"It did," Bruce said. "And that's how Bonita made me feel today. Did you not?"

Natasha's shoulder brushed his with her shrug. "It's kind of a fair question. We bought a house together. We're planning to adopt. Why _not_ get married? Is it a cage? Something that makes it harder to run away?"

Bruce stopped dead on the sidewalk, only vaguely registering that the person walking behind him barreled into him and swore. "You think I'm going to run?"

Natasha had stopped, too, turned back to him. "You walked out on me in the middle of a conversation the other night. Not that it was much of a conversation."

"You went behind my back!" His hands came out of his pockets, gesturing with splayed palms.

"Is that unforgivable? Did I fuck this up for good?"

The rapid blink of her eyes might have been because of the wind that whipped against her face, but there was no mistaking the tremor in her voice. Her arms were still folded over her chest, only now it seemed like a protective gesture. Some of the heat went out of Bruce's flaring temper. He sighed, heavily, raked his fingers back through his hair to stop it flapping in the wind.

"I don't…No."

"You don't know?"

"No, I mean _no_ , N-O." His hand fell to his side, and he took a small step closer to her. "Look, I know you meant well, it's just…I need you to be on my side in this."

Natasha looked at him in disbelief. "Bruce, I'm _always_ on your side. How could you ever think I'm not? We're a team."

A team. Bruce's gaze drifted past her, over the tops of the high rises to one of the skyscrapers towering over the city, the gigantic _A_ of the Avengers Tower illuminated against the backdrop of January clouds though it was early afternoon.

Turning to see what he was looking at, Natasha said, "Surely if you learned anything from being an Avenger, it's that teammates don't always see everything the same way."

"Hey, I wasn't here for the Civil War," Bruce quipped.

A howling gust of wind around a corner sent them into motion again, though not quite as rapidly as his thoughts.

"Do you think Bonita could be wrong about starting over?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

He gestured up at the Tower. "Maybe that's exactly what we need to do."

* * *

Had the uniform always felt this tight? No, not tight, exactly. Stiff. Restrictive. Ill-fitting. The second the quinjet touched down on the helicarrier, Natasha unstrapped herself and stood.

"Hey!" came Stark's voice from the cockpit as he piloted the grounded jet into the hangar. "I didn't turn off the seatbelt sign."

Natasha continued to tug at her catsuit where it had bunched up uncomfortably around her thighs during the flight, while Jessica Jones watched with a smirk.

"Too much retirement?"

Not enough retirement. Natasha did her best to let the thought roll off her back as she rotated her shoulders to loosen the clinging fabric around her arms.

Mirroring Jess' expression, she replied, "More like too much of Bruce's holiday baking."

A glance showed him to be fidgeting, too, though not necessarily because he was self-conscious in the Hulkout-proof stretchy pants Tony had dubbed "broga pants"back in the day.

"Don't pay any attention to her, Bruce," he said as he came to the rear of the jet, now parked in the hangar. "Those pants do _not_ make your ass look big."

Bruce had gotten so used to this sort of comment that he barely reacted, and even the accompanying swat on the butt Tony gave as he strode past to punch the bay door control didn't seem to phase. His jaw did tighten almost imperceptibly as the doors creaked apart, the lower one forming the boarding ramp. Natasha couldn't help but recall the first time she'd watched him board a helicarrier, when he'd been a state of constant hand-wringing as he dodged pilots and technicians, looking as bewildered as if he'd stumbled into a hive of worker bees. Today he was no less tense, but she didn't detect anxiety at its root. He was the one who'd suggested putting themselves back on the Avengers roster, after all.

Phil Coulson stood at the bottom of the ramp to meet the Avengers team: Stark, Jessica and Luke Cage, Thor, and of course Bruce and herself.

"When I saw your name on the roster," Coulson said as she disembarked, "I thought it must be a mistake."

Once again Natasha had to put conscious effort into tamping down the emotion that swelled when she remembered the last conversation they'd had about staying in retirement and confronting the past, when she saw the unspoken question in his eyes as his gaze flickered briefly away from her to Bruce.

"Who can resist the siren call of a villain who wears ram horns and wields energy weapons?" she quipped, referring to the Zodiac leader responsible for the recent attack in Chicago.

Jess gave a snort, but Thor spoke gravely. "When I first saw him, I thought he was of Asgard."

"That was Aries," Coulson said. "This time we've got Cancer in Houston, complete with crab claws."

"Zodiac's taking their theming way too far," said Cage.

"What'll it be next?" Jess asked. "Siamese twins in Minneapolis-St. Paul?"

"Um, one, _conjoined twins_ is the more PC term," Tony said. "Two, God I hope not, Minnesota in January?" A full-body shiver rippled down him. "And three, crab claws, _mmmm_." He closed his eyes, looking practically orgasmic. "I could really go for seafood. Houston has a seafood scene, right?"

"Not like it used to, thanks to the oil spills and the terrigen," answered Coulson, who once upon a time would have been annoyed at Stark's interjections _._ "But we could hop across the bay to New Orleans to celebrate a job well done."

"What is the job?" asked Bruce. No, he definitely wasn't anxious, Natasha thought, except in the sense that he anticipated this mission. Her stomach twisted, but she tried to focus on the matter at hand.

"Agent Mackenzie will brief you all," he said, and directed the team to the command deck where the deputy director was waiting to brief them.

"The mission's kind of a twofer," Mack began when they were all seated around the gleaming dark conference table.

"Thanks, Zodiac, for your plan to dominate the world at bargain prices," Tony said, swiveling his chair like a kid at his father's desk.

Giving him the tolerant of look eerily reminiscent of Coulson, Mack went on with his briefing. Just like in Chicago, Zodiac had targeted the Port of Houston in what they could only assume to be a play to control shipping. _Un_ like in Chicago, the exports in question were volatile, given the Bay Area dealt primarily in oil and petrochemicals.

"You know," Tony interrupted again, examining his fingernails, "if everyone was using clean energy and driving electric cars, we could not only go out for seafood in Houston, we also wouldn't be dealing with this little attempt at world economic domination…"

"Was this ad paid for by Tesla?" Bruce said.

Tony gaped at him, offended. "Are you accusing me of being in the pocket of a corporation? Besides my own?"

"How does Pepper feel about your shameless promotion of Tesla when you skipped out on the press conference about SI's new clean reactor?"

Huffing, Tony leaned back in his chair and scratched his chin. "Gave me the self-driving car," he muttered into his hand.

Bruce actually met Natasha's eye as his mouth curled in a small, satisfied grin.

"Look," Jess cut in, "I get that you guys are used to pre-battle banter or whatever, but once again let me remind you _we're_ paying for a sitter."

"What does Squirrel Girl _charge_?" Tony mused. Jess leveled him with a glare, and his hands shot up. "Just think of all the money you're saving with these two missions for the price of one! The second one being…?" He looked to Mack, though Natasha had a feeling that was more to avoid Jess' deepening glower than anything.

"Johnson Space Center," Mack answered, looking relieved to get back on track. Beside him, Coulson just looked relieved not to be the one responsible for this briefing. "They've infiltrated the Astromaterials Research Office, which supports our theory that the Zodiac Key didn't originate on earth."

"That's what we've taken to calling the ankh," Thor attempted to whisper to Bruce, whose jaw muscle flickered again.

"Forgot to pack my lab coat," he said.

If Natasha didn't know better, Bruce sounded almost disappointed. Of course, that they were here at all proved she _didn't_ know him as well as she'd thought.

"You won't be needing it," Coulson said. "I'd hoped you packed for a Code Green."

"I told him those pants were very flattering," Tony said.

"Agents Fitz and Simmons will have the science covered, given their past experience with this kind of thing," Mack added. "After we've worked out our plan of entry, we'll need someone to cover them getting into JSC-" He looked at Natasha. "-but we'll more than likely need the Big Guy ready for action down at the ship channel."

They weren't going to be teamed up? The knot in Natasha's stomach tightened. Well, they hadn't been much of a team lately, had they? Ironically, Bruce looked the most relaxed he had since the home study.

"Because that's the other thing," Mack said. "They've commandeered the _USS Texas_."

"The Navy battleship?" Natasha asked. "Isn't that a museum?"

"Not anymore."

Coulson added, "Our intel leads us to believe it'll soon be fully armed and operational, as they say."

" _Star Wars_ , Phil, _really_?" Tony shook his head.

"Understanding _Star Wars_ references, Stark, _really_?" Jess said, and he scowled.

"Speaking Bruce's language," Natasha joked, lamely.

At least somebody was.


	10. Chapter 9: Battleship, Sunk

**9\. Battleship, Sunk**

"My. You certainly made _that_ look effortless," said Jemma Simmons in the way that made Natasha think she ought to be standing on the set of Downton Abbey rather than in the hallway of NASA's Astromaterials Research and Exploration Sciences building, surrounded by a dozen or so unconscious Zodiac operatives. "You're even more efficient than Bobbi Morse. Wouldn't you agree, Fitz?"

He nodded, but Natasha only huffed an acknowledgment as she holstered her batons. Despite appearances, it hadn't _felt_ effortless or efficient. She rolled her shoulders, aware once again of the snugness of her suit. Violence hadn't relieved her tension at all; she'd actually broken a sweat. Age must be catching up with her. More likely, it was the mental energy of trying to stay focused on her objective while Bruce would soon be out there with his own.

Before her thoughts could linger there, she drew her gun and continued down the hall, beckoning with a jerk of her head for Fitz and Simmons, each armed with icers, to follow. Although they moved quickly, she considered each step, scarcely blinking to ensure she missed nothing, when Tony's voice crackled over the commlink.

"'kay. The civilians are safe, thanks to our dynamic duo distracting Crablegs."

"The evac's complete? Already?" Mackenzie's deep tones didn't entirely mask his surprise. Natasha glanced at the watch embedded in her left gauntlet; it _had_ been quick. "You're sure?"

"He's sure." That was Jessica Jones-one half of the aforementioned duo. The other, her husband, added, "Stark's doing a final scan of the monument and battleship, but yeah. Iron Legion's got 'em all."

The civilians were tourists-because _of course_ the defunct battleship Cancer had weaponized was moored in a historic park. San Jacinto was the decisive battlefield in the Texas Revolution, Coulson, the history buff, felt was crucial information to include in his briefing. Before Thor and Hulk disarmed the _USS Texas_ , the team had to clear hostages out of it, the battlegrounds, and the towering monument that was taller than the Washington Monument and presided over the site like a limestone Christmas tree, complete with a 220-ton star on top. Because everything really _was_ bigger in Texas.

"They'll definitely remember the Alamo," Tony said.

"Maybe stick to referencing battles with less disastrous outcomes?" Bruce suggested, and Natasha grinned slightly.

"Is there a film about this war?" asked Thor.

"Starring John Wayne," Coulson joined the conversation. "Bruce, are you ready to suit up?"

"More like dress down," Tony said.

Bruce hadn't transformed yet when Natasha left for Johnson Space Center with Fitz and Simmons; Coulson might trust his control enough to send him on a mission, but no one, especially not Bruce, felt comfortable with the idea of setting the Hulk loose on the helicarrier. Although she hated herself for it, Natasha didn't share Coulson's confidence in his control. She shoved the thought aside as she picked up the pace leading the two scientists to the lab, along with what was happening on the other end of the now silent comms as Bruce Hulked out.

* * *

Transparent fingers swept his hair back from his forehead, lashing his skin and making his eyes water as Bruce stepped alongside Thor in front of the helicarrier's yawning bay door. Below, through the wisps of pollution which they thankfully couldn't smell from up here, he saw the smokestacks of the oil refineries that produced it, the indiscernible forms of Tony, Jessica Jones, and the Iron Legion hovering around the San Jacinto Monument like bees at a blossom, the white column's star-shaped shadow dark against the lawn, the World War II battleship _Texas_ moored in the brown inlet of the bay like a toy boat in a rain puddle.

Gripping Mjölnir in one hand, Thor settled his free hand on Bruce's shoulder and said, voice for once not quite booming due to the roar of the wind and the helicarrier's engines-or maybe it was the roar in his own head—"Are you ready, my friend?"

"Readier than I've ever been."

As Bruce unzipped his track jacket, he felt Thor looking down at him. He tried to shrug it off along with the hoodie he handed to Mackenzie, but it only made him think of the expression Natasha had been watching him with ever since he suggested they re-join the Avengers. The way her eyebrows pulled together, furrowing in between, and her voice buckled when she spoke to him before her departure for Johnson Space Center.

 _I'll come as soon as you need me_ , she'd said, as though she was certain he would need a lullaby to come back. He, or the Other Guy, bristled at that, and he'd found himself unable to say anything more to her than, _Be safe._ From what, exactly, he couldn't say. When she brushed her lips over his, he only managed to give her a peck in return before she withdrew, though he'd wanted to pull her into his arms again, kiss her deeply to show her he loved her and understood-or wished he could understand-why she'd done what she had.

The part of him that didn't want these things, that couldn't understand anything but anger and aggression, was stronger.

"All right," said Mackenzie. "On my mark."

Bruce stepped forward, toes at the edge, and Thor followed suit.

"Three…two…"

"ONE," Bruce shouted, in a voice too deep and rumbling to be his own, more thunderous even than Thor's, and leapt out of the helicarrier.

"Damn it, Banner, that was supposed to be _my_ mark!" Mack's voice hissed in his commlink.

"Oops," Hulk replied.

His grin made the unused muscles in his cheeks feel like they were tearing apart like the t-shirt that shredded as pectorals and biceps bulged from Banner's pale skin, now tinged green and darkening to a more vivid hue. It was a good feeling, though the thought of Banner made the smile fall. Hulk had wanted to break free for days now, but Banner held him back, like a dog on a leash. Now Hulk was free, falling toward the little boat below in the muddy water.

The grin came back. Falling from that height, at this speed, would make a big splash. Hulk almost grabbed his knees and tucked them to his chest, imagined himself yelling, _Cannonball!_ He looked sideways at Thor, flying head-first pulled by his magical hammer. Hulk's friend, now. They could do cannonballs together, splash more. But then Hulk saw the serious look on Thor's face, and mirrored it as he remembered. Hulk and his friend weren't here to make big splashes. They were here to smash. That was good too.

Faster and faster they fell, the deck of the boat got closer and closer, and Hulk braced for impact. The metal deck made a very noisy _clank_ as it crumpled beneath his feet. A boom when Thor's hammer hit it. Like playing with Mommy's pots and pans in the kitchen. _Hey! Knock it off with all that racket! You're giving me a goddamn migraine. Didn't you hear me? SHUT THE FUCK UP._ Hulk growled, looked around for the bad man who hurt puny Bruce.

Instead, he saw a crab skittering across the deck as the ship rocked. Waves poured over the sides. Smash _and_ splash.

"You sunk my battleship!" buzzed a voice in his ear. Tony.

Hulk chuckled. He knew that game.

"Ha!" Thor laughed, too, but not at the Battleship joke. As the ship bobbed, water covering their feet up to their ankles, he looked up at Hulk. "You owe me fifty dollars, Stark! Banner's alter ego sports a magnificent beard."

He did? Hulk ran his hand over his chin. Hair prickled and tickled. He snorted.

"Prove it," Tony said. "Text me a pic."

"Hell no, you two better not be texting in the middle of a mission!" said Mack, but Hulk didn't think Thor and Tony heard him.

"Say cheese," Thor told Hulk.

He said cheese but forgot to smile, surprised Thor had a phone. He was still blinking from the flash when he heard Tony again.

"Damn! You have , right?"

"I can't believe you people ever saved the world," Mack muttered.

"Well, we did, and we looked good doing it," Tony said. "Big Guy, you never looked more handsome. What do you think, Romanoff?"

"Very distinguished," she said, but she didn't sound like she meant it. Hulk didn't know _what_ she meant anymore. "Maybe less chit-chat and more taking out those weapons and finding Captain Crabby Pants so Bruce can come back?"

Hulk batted at his ear with the annoying thing in it. He didn't want to hear Tasha talk about bringing Banner back. Banner's turn had lasted too long, and Hulk had only come out to play. He did like the sound of smashing cannons and the Crab Man.

But Tony agreed with Tasha.

"Yeah," he said. "Bruce and I have a lot of scientific experimentation to do on why Hulk got a beard to match the drapes, but not the chest carpet."

* * *

Natasha deleted the pic and turned her attention from her watch screen to the door at the end of the hall.

"Do you all have smart watches integrated into your suits?" Fitz panted behind her.

"Stark thought they'd be useful. Mostly they exist for him and Thor to abuse our texting privileges sending selfies."

To Cap's eternal frustration. At least that was the only thing they were fighting about these days. Or the main thing.

"Can you really blame Thor?" asked Simmons, breathless not just from running.

"I wouldn't mind seeing Hulk with a beard," Fitz replied.

It wasn't that Natasha hadn't been curious about whether Hulk would keep Bruce's beard when he transformed, or that she didn't appreciate the comic relief when he actually had, but she had a new appreciation for Bruce's point of view when everyone around him seemed to treat the Hulk lightly, while he was just afraid of what the Other Guy would do. In this case, she was more afraid of how easily he'd transformed. How willingly.

They arrived at the lab door, and Natasha stepped aside, standing sentry while Fitzsimmons went to work. They had an access key card, but as expected Zodiac had hijacked the system to keep official NASA personnel out. Of course they had a Plan B, which scanned the room for body heat signatures as it unlocked the door. Then it was Natasha's turn again, entering head of the scientists to make sure they weren't ambushed by whomever, or whatever, waited them inside.

There was _something_ , according to the scan, but Natasha couldn't find it as she made her rounds of the room which, despite state-of-the-art computers and instruments, still bore traces of the 1970s. Even with the previous decade's rash of alien invasions, government-funded science agencies still didn't get the funding the military ones did, and didn't compare with Stark-funded labs. A stool at the edge of the room, not beneath a desk, directed her eyes upward to an air vent. Spotting the missing screws, she raised her gun.

"Ventilation system," she said with a glance at Fitz, who'd stepped cautiously halfway through the lab door.

Simmons' scream ricocheted off the hallway walls, and Natasha pivoted just in time to see her crouched on the floor, broken bits of ceiling tiles raining down, and a figure running away, white lab coat streaming behind him.

"I've got an operative on the move!" Natasha shouted into the comms. "Do I apprehend, or stay and guard Fitzsimmons?"

"We can look after ourselves," Simmons said. "That seemed to be the only heat signature on the scan."

"Fitzsimmons are right, apprehend," Mack said, but Natasha was already clattering back down the hall after the escaped operative.

"I'll send backup, just in case," Coulson added. "Jones, can you-?"

"Already on my way."

"I could get there faster," said Tony.

"No-you're our eye the in the sky on the Hulk."

"He's fine. Just playing with his boats in the bathtub."

"Never leave a kid unattended in the tub," Natasha gritted out.

A bang from around the corner indicated her subject was in the stairwell. She hoped he wasn't going upstairs, but of course the footsteps thundered overhead, and she found herself retracing the path she'd just come with Fitzsimmons, leaping over bodies. If only he'd trip over one so she could catch up. No such luck.

"Heading for the roof. Anything up there I need to worry about?"

"Only me," Jessica replied, and Natasha burst out into the glaring sunlight jJust in time to see her teammate rocket into the man in the lab coat and tackle him to the ground.

He may have had the edge on Natasha in speed-and his head start-but he was no match for Jessica's strength. She subdued him while Natasha caught her breath and reported to Mack, who informed her SHIELD was sending an extraction unit to bring him in for questioning.

"Uh, Houston?" came Tony's voice over the comms. "We have a problem."

Jessica looked up from where she pinned the operative to the ground with her knee in his back, meeting Natasha's eye with her unimpressed look. "You planned to say that, didn't you?"

"I mean I didn't plan for Dr. Claw to disappear in a flash of light, but yeah. I had it in my arsenal."

Jessica snorted. "Right next to the repulsor rays."

"Cancer disappeared?" Coulson cut in.

"Literally or figuratively?" Mack added.

"He used the Zodiac Key," Thor replied. "It may be that it unlocks doorways to other worlds."

Over Tony's predictable quip about Narnia, Coulson said, "It may. But it may not, so let's shift our manpower to finding this guy."

"Great idea, Phil," said Tony, "but remember that problem I called about? All our _Hulk_ power is already looking for him. Aggressively, I might add."

Natasha's stomach knotted. Feeling Jessica's eyes on her, she was grateful for the arrival of the extraction pod to give her an excuse to look away.

"Mind if I jack your ride?" she asked the agent who emerged, giving her a puzzled look.

"We'll send you another pod," Coulson said. "Romanoff has a lullaby to sing."

* * *

The _USS Texas_ had survived two World Wars, including the invasions of Normandy and Iwo Jima, only to be blown apart by her own weapons-well, her own weapons enhanced with tech they were pretty sure was alien-in her own berth. To add insult to injury, the Hulk was splashing around in the wreckage, picking up and tossing aside the flotsam and jetsam, creating even more as he tore off strips of steel that had remained intact during the skirmish to disarm the ship.

By some miracle, the pier used by tourists to board it was more or less undamaged. Natasha nevertheless crept down it slowly as if it had been, and despite the racket and his back being turned to her, she spoke softly, assuming he still wore his commlink.

"Hey, Big Guy."

Hulk froze. Exactly as she'd seen the Barton kids do when they were caught in the middle of doing something they shouldn't. Clearly he'd heard her, but after standing there for a moment, back muscles twitching beneath the green skin, he went on with prying up a panel.

Natasha continued her approach, but waited until the screech of steel tearing loose from its rivets died to speak again.

"Sun's getting real low…"

At that Hulk pivoted, water churning around his calves, not quite facing her, though she saw his face in profile, the bearded chin tilted upward as his eyes scanned the sky. The features so like Bruce's in some ways, in others not, brow, nose, mouth distorted by rage. She shuddered, remembering the face it reminded her more of, viewed through a pane of shatterproof glass.

"No," growled Hulk, eyes meeting hers now. "Sun not low."

She'd almost forgotten she was dealing with the more verbal Hulk. Not that this was the first time he'd spoken to her; after his stint in space, Bruce had made great strides in merging his own intelligence with Hulk's physical prowess, and he spoke to her and to the others during the Infinity Wars. It was, however, the first time he'd ever really argued with her with this much petulance. She remembered Clint talking about the mythical "terrible twos," and how the kids' wills had become more difficult to negotiate when they could express opinions and logic as well as use words.

"You're right," she acquiesced, gaze drifting over his huge shoulder to the pale disc of sun that shone hazily through the smog and smoke of burned out explosions. "We're a few hours from sunset."

He grunted as if vindicated, and turned away from her. "Hulk busy. Find Crab Man."

"Coulson and his agents are on it." Natasha was already standing at the end of the dock, or she'd have continued toward him. If he wasn't going to come to her, she might have to swim out to him. "You did well today. Your part's done. So could you let Bruce come back? Not that it isn't good to see you. It's been a while."

"Bruce not come back. Not to Widow."

Natasha cringed at his use of _Widow_. A big clue, if his attitude hadn't already made her well aware that he wasn't at all pleased with her. She reached out toward her, started to retort, but he cut her off by flinging a panel into the water, intentionally shy of the pier.

"Hulk not trust Widow. Widow visit monster who hit and hurt and…" His voice dropped to a growl. "… _kill Mother_."

"I didn't mean-"

His fists crashed against the remnants of a bulkhead. "NO MORE LULLABIES!"

Before Natasha could ask whether he meant no more lullabies sung by Bruce's mother, or no more of _the_ lullaby with her, he leapt off the ship and bounded through the river.

* * *

The aroma of cinnamon and brown sugar wafting from the oven lent a hominess to the efficiency kitchen in the functional Avengers Facility quarters. She'd pilfered the ingredients for cinnamon toast from the Facility's common kitchen, along with tea, in an attempt to recreate their old post-mission routine. When they were fighting Thanos, that had usually included showering together, maybe having sex while they were in there, but today she hadn't even asked Bruce if he wanted company, just let him go in the bedroom alone, the click of the lock ringing as loudly in her ears as the thunder of Hulk's rage against the battleship.

It had been Thor who found him, miles up Buffalo Bayou, and convinced him to transform back into Bruce by telling him he could wear his cape. The sight of Bruce wrapped up in it, blood red against his pale skin, muddy and mottled with bruises, when the quinjet picked them up, had been alarming to her and embarrassing for him, and she'd given him a wide berth, unsure how much he remembered of Hulk's reaction when she attempted the lullaby, or how much of those sentiments he shared.

The kettle shrieked, and she snapped to take it off the burner. In the silence that followed, she noticed the absence of the shower in the background. How long had Bruce been finished? She poured the boiling water over the tea leaves, and while it steeped cracked the oven door to check on the toast. When she closed it again and turned, Bruce was emerging from the bedroom.

"Good timing. Toast's almost ready…"

Her words died as she noticed belatedly that the hand not clutching the back of his damp hair hung loose at his side, fingers wrapped around the handle of his duffel bag.

Swallowing the fear that knotted in her throat, Natasha said hoarsely, "I thought we were going to stay here tonight."

They'd talked about it on the quinjet. It was just about the _only_ thing they'd talked about, not wanting to drive back to Ithaca so late. That, and the fact that the _USS_ _Texas_ was long overdue for renovations due to leaks, only there hadn't been enough funding to complete the repairs or the dry berth project. The state Parks and Wildlife Department would be grateful for the generous donation from the Stark Foundation, as well as for Hulk necessitating them if it meant the historic ship hadn't been brought down or used for nefarious purposes by a terrorist organization. He hadn't seemed to care about any of that, though.

"Not that I wouldn't like being home," she added, taking two mugs and saucers out of a cupboard.

"I'm going to the city," Bruce said in that tight voice that sounded like he'd barely moved his lips. "Tony said I can stay in the Tower."

"What about your classes? The semester starts Monday."

 _That_ was her protest? Not _What about the adoption?_ or _What about_ us _?_

"I'll figure something out. Video conference, or…" Bruce's gaze had drifted to the computer in the corner of the living area. "I just think…after what happened in Houston…We could use some time apart."

"The Big Guy doesn't trust me because _you_ don't trust me."

 _It's not you I don't trust_ , his voice whispered to her from years ago. She willed him to say it again now.

He didn't.

He did say, "It's not that. Not _just_ that. I jumped out of a helicarrier, for Christ's sake. Hulked out because I wanted to."

"Because of me."

Bruce pressed his lips together, dark eyes looking at her sadly. After a moment he huffed out a breath and said, "I get why you did it. Or I want to. I just…need to get my head around it. I'm not saying it's over, Natasha."

 _Not yet._

His nose wrinkled, at the same moment that the smell of burning reached her nostrils. She stuffed the oven mitts onto her hands and yanked the oven door open, recoiling as smoke billowed into her face. Reaching in anyway, she pulled out the pan which held crumbling lumps that looked more like charcoal than cinnamon toast.

"You should go back to Ithaca," she said, willing herself not to cry. "I'll stay here. Or…Go to Clint's. I haven't been in forever."

"No. You go home."

Against her will a tear fell, sizzling on the hot baking sheet in her hands. It wasn't home if he wasn't in it. Didn't he understand that yet?

"I should be the one to go," Bruce said. "This is my thing."

"You're right." Natasha wheeled around, the burned toast plopping onto the tile. Not bothering to pick it up, she tossed the pan in the sink and strode past him, listing to one side to avoid knocking shoulders with him. "Running away is your thing."


	11. Chapter 10: Deal With It

**10\. Deal With It**

The Tesla barely rolled to a complete stop in front of the Tower before Bruce climbed out. As he opened the back door and reached for his duffel, Tony, still in his seat, looked back, frowned at the bag, and heaved the sort of longsuffering sigh Bruce was more accustomed to giving him.

He gritted his jaw. "Whatever it is you're thinking of saying, just say it already."

Frankly it was nothing short of a miracle that Tony hadn't already. He'd driven in silence for hours, and Bruce doubted that had anything to do with his pretending to be asleep the whole time, while Tony blared AC/DC on the stereo. Maybe seeing the Lullaby fail had put the fear of Hulk in him.

"I shouldn't be harboring you," Tony said.

Bruce chuffed out a laugh. "You make it sound like I'm a fugitive."

"Aren't you? A fugitive from your own heart?

"Seriously?"

Tony raised his hands. "Hey, you're the one who watches the sappy old movies. I'm just trying to speak your language. Anyway, my point is: I don't really want to be a party to your relationship drama."

"Should've thought about that before you and Natasha conspired with those prison letters from my father."

It was almost comical how round Tony's eyes got, if only there was anything remotely funny about the situation. " _That's_ what this is about?"

"I really don't want to discuss it." Bruce punctuated the statement with the slam of the car door.

By the time he strode around the back of the car, Tony had gotten out.

"If you decide you do," he said, falling into step with Bruce on the walk up to the building, "I can commiserate about daddy issues."

"Right. You, with the dad who didn't spend enough time with you because he was too busy becoming a billionaire. Wish mine had taken a leaf out of that book."

"Excuse _me_ for wanting to return the favor of playing therapist."

For the few seconds it took to walk to the entrance, Bruce indulged the fantasy that Tony's petulant remark was all he had to say on the subject. This proved to just be one more instance of wishful thinking failing him when they reached the door and Tony pivoted around to block his entrance.

"I get it." This is the Shitty Childhood Olympics: Avengers Edition, and you're going for the gold. Personally, if I'm judge, I'd maybe give it to Natasha in the All-Around, but you win in the Coping With It Badly event. So congratulations," he said, clapping him on the shoulder, squeezing roughly, "I'll let you continue doing what doesn't work for you."

Tony did let him. If he actually stayed at the Tower, Bruce never saw or heard from him. Partly because he kept to the lab as much as possible. The shitty thing was that he couldn't decide whether he'd rather Tony be angry at him for being a dick, or afraid to be around him after what happened between Hulk and Natasha.

The even shittier thing was he wasn't wrong. This _wasn't_ working for Bruce, on any level, even the most basic. All he'd brought with him to the city was the overnight bag he'd taken to the Avengers Facility before the Houston mission. He didn't have his laptop or more than one change of clothes, and while he could access his home computer remotely and scrounged up a lab coat, he was forced to go shopping for more classroom-appropriate clothes. It was bad enough he was starting the semester flaking out and conducting his lectures online, without his looking unprofessional.

Not that it mattered, because the Zodiac Cartel and the Avengers were all they were interested in. He gave up calling on anyone with a raised hand, because those were the only questions they asked. The administration had questions, too, mainly about his future plans; in a particularly snippy phone call, the Dean of Sciences asked whether his course load and research requirements were going to interfere with his day job.

Of course, Bruce was officially grounded; after the mission report, Cap deemed the Hulk was too volatile to be an asset to the team. Erik Selvig called for a consult on the Zodiac Key, which they'd learned from the captured scientist was, indeed, an interdimensional teleportation device, as well as the power source for their weapons, but Bruce suspected that was more to make him feel useful than because his expertise was truly necessary to the Avengers.

Aunt Susan called a couple of times, too. Bruce didn't answer, though he knew she must be really worried if she was using the phone instead of writing a letter. He just couldn't talk to her right now.

Not even to try and prove Tony wrong.

* * *

"Sorry to interrupt, Doc…"

FRIDAY's voice filled the lab as he kept "office hours" before his final lecture of the week, replying to emails. Her lilting brogue sounded almost discordant with the dramatic Tchaikovsky piece- _The Tempest-_ playing over the lab sound system.

"It's okay, FRIDAY," he muttered as he went on typing, "what's up?"

"Jessica Jones and Luke Cage are here to see you."

Bruce's fingers went still on the keyboard as his brain worked to process this. Luke and Jessica lived in New York City, they were Defenders-turned-Avengers, so it wasn't unthinkable that they might drop in the Tower. The part that was difficult to imagine was that they'd dropped in to see _him_.

"Send them in."

He saved his email, got up from his chair, and was just shrugging out of his lab coat as they entered, cool and badass as usual in their leather jackets and boots-except for the fact Jessica carried a polka dot print diaper in one hand and a portable crib in the other, while perched in the crook of Luke's arm was a nine month-old dressed in a fluffy pink footed onesie with a flower headband almost the size of her head wrapped around her dark curls.

"So we'll hopefully be back before bedtime," Jessica said, without preamble, dropping the diaper bag on Bruce's workstation while the crib hit the floor with a thud, "but it's just about time for her nap. Hence the Pack n Play. Danni goes to sleep pretty easily. Sing _Twinkle Twinkle_ -she knows if you do _ABC_ or _Ba Ba Black Sheep instead_ so don't even try to slip past her-and make sure the room is totally dark. Oh, and make sure she has her lovey. Everything you need's in here." She patted the diaper bag.

"Bottles, formula, baby food, pacifiers, change of clothes, extra PJs, books, toys, diapers, rash ointment, monitor," Luke rattled off.

Bruce's eyes bounced from Jessica to her husband. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Cap's just called us to Detroit," Luke said. "Squirrel Girl, too."

"Which means you get to babysit."

For another moment Bruce stared at the couple, at the baby peering back at him with round brown eyes and her fingers in her mouth, chin shiny with drool. Then he gave a snort of laughter.

"Did Tony put you up to this? Or Natasha?"

"What," said Jessica, "like in a misguided attempt to help you get your head out of your ass?"

"I swear to God, Jess, if that's Danni's first word…"

She went on as if she hadn't heard Luke, or didn't care what he'd said. "Sorry, some of us are busy adults and don't have time for that kind of sitcom…" She put her hands over the baby's ears and whispered, "…bullshit."

Danni giggled.

Luke pinched the bridge of his nose. "The Tower's the safest place we can think of for Danni on short notice."

"That, and this is where the quinjet's picking us up," said Jessica, grinning. "And since you're the only person here…"

Bruce shook his head. "I don't…I can't…"

Before he could do anything but splutter incoherently, Jessica plucked her daughter from Luke's arms and thrust her into Bruce's. Danni immediately reached up and grabbed for his glasses. He wrestled them free, only for her pincer grasp to pull his beard.

"See?" said Jessica. "You're entertaining her already."

She and Luke showered their daughter with noisy kisses and said goodbye in appallingly babyish voices. Then, without further instruction to Bruce, turned and strode toward the lab exit.

"But I have a class to teach!" he belatedly found a solid excuse why this was a bad idea. Besides the most obvious thing they apparently didn't have a problem with.

"We believe in early education," Luke replied. "You got this whole Baby Einstein vibe with the classical music."

"Or you'll bore the kid to sleep," Jessica said. "Either's good."

Resigning himself to his new, unexpected assignment, Bruce watched them go. Just as they reached the door, he called, "Hey, one more thing."

The couple turned back, Luke with his eyebrows raised in expectation, Jessica's posture-arms crossed, foot tapping-pure impatience.

"Hurry it up, Banner, we've got a quinjet to catch."

"Just…" Bruce shifted the baby to his other arm to keep her slobbery hand out of his shirt pocket. "If you see Natasha, tell her I love her."

Jessica eyed him from beneath drooping lids, lips pursed.

"You're a grown ass man," she replied, pivoting to step through the door. "Tell her yourself."

* * *

A shadow fell across the dossier Natasha was reviewing before the Detroit mission brief. She glanced back to see Luke reading over her shoulder.

"Target's a green dude," Luke observed.

"In a dress," Natasha said.

"How inclusive of Zodiac," said Jess, drawing out the chair beside Natasha's, but only to kick it out of the way as she perched on the edge of the conference table facing her.

"Alien, or science experiment gone wrong?" asked Luke.

"Alien, according to the operative we brought in," Natasha replied.

She'd spent a lot of the week interviewing him. Interrogating him, technically, but he was so compliant it seemed too strong a word.

Jess flicked through her own copy of the dossier. "As if an actual human would _choose_ the alias Willard Weir."

"Too bad we don't have Bruce today," Natasha said. "Battle of the green dudes."

"He's doing his part," Luke remarked, dropping into the chair next to the one his wife wasn't sitting in.

They'd seen him? Or heard about him? Natasha had neither since he left the Avengers Facility after the Houston mission, with the exception of a call from Aunt Susan who worried when he hadn't been answering his phone. "Oh?"

Jess smirked. "Babysitting Danni."

It would have been funny, except for the little twinge of electricity that rippled through Natasha's chest. Jess didn't mean anything by it. She didn't know…

Natasha fixed a crooked grin on her own face as she leaned back in her chair. "How'd you convince him to do that?"

"Didn't give him a choice," Jess replied.

"We just sort of brought Danni to the lab and left her."

"Is that bad parenting?"

"No, it's good Bruce handling," Natasha said.

A sideways glance confirmed the only other people in the conference room were Coulson, Steve, and Thor. Coulson already knew, and Thor spoke so loudly that no one could possibly overhear her conversation, anyway.

"And good practice for him," she added.

"Are you-?"

"Adopting," Natasha headed off Jess' inevitable question about pregnancy with a smile. "The process is pretty…intense."

Luke grunted sympathetically.

Natasha went on, as though a floodgate had been opened. "One of the questions they asked us is why do two superheroes decide to adopt a child?"

"We asked ourselves that one, too," Luke said, rubbing his fingers over his goatee. "Well, not adopt. Have one."

"What was your answer?" Natasha asked.

"Because apparently condoms are no match for Luke's mighty sperm."

He ducked his head, shaking it, but his laugh rumbled low as Jess nudged his ankle with her toe.

Eyes flicking to Natasha, her face became serious. "Because that's what people do, isn't it? Most people. They have kids."

"People want families," Luke added.

"And superheroes are people, too," Natasha murmured.

"I'd find a less Hallmark card way to say it to your social worker," said Jess, sliding off the table to take her seat. "But yeah. Basically."

It seemed almost _too_ basic to Natasha. Then again, it wouldn't be the first time she and Bruce overcomplicated a problem. Especially Bruce.

"Although there are exceptions to every rule," Jess said, jerking her chin toward the doorway as Tony swaggered through to interrupt the conversation between Thor, Cap, and Coulson. "We're not sure what the hell that one is."

* * *

Bruce was not only not present for his seminar, but he was late for it, too. He was trying to get Danni down for her nap, but she wouldn't sleep. She wouldn't even stay laying down. Every time he put her little blanket over her, she pushed up on all fours, rocked back and forth, and giggled at him through the mesh. He couldn't help chuckling at her.

"I guess you don't let anyone tell you what to do…like your mom," he said, crouching in front of her. He raked his hands back through his hair and sighed. "You're really cute, Danni, but I have a graduate seminar on high energy particle physics to teach."

In reply, Danni pressed her pudgy little hand against the mesh, laughing when Bruce pushed his finger against it and said, "Boop!" They repeated this several times, Danny finding it more and more hilarious each time. Bruce had a fleeting thought that he should be making a video, but the video _conference_ was more important. Finally, desperate to begin his lecture, he decided to put the _play_ in Pack n Play, and emptied the toys from her diaper bag into it.

"Skipping a nap means early bedtime, right?" he said, moving back to his workstation.

He'd barely greeted his students when Danni's cry interrupted the beginning of the lecture.

"Was that a baby?" asked a girl wearing a Black Widow t-shirt which, in a normal circumstance, Bruce would have teased her wouldn't get her extra credit in the course.

"Um, yeah…"He glanced back over his shoulder to see Danni's toys scattered across the floor _out_ side the play pen, while the baby slapped miserably at the side, trying to reach them through the mesh. "Hang on a sec…"

He darted to Danni, who instantly stopped crying and grinned up at him, the beads of tears still gleaming on her round cheeks. For a moment he stared down at her, hands on his hips, then he bent and began to scoop up the toys and drop them back in with her.

"I suspect this may be an exercise in futility," he muttered. In his life, wasn't everything?

Danni squealed and picked up a soft book, which she shoved in her mouth. She looked happy enough, but Bruce noticed the plush ballerina doll had a key on her back, so he wound it all the way up, surprised to hear it playing Beethoven's _F_ _ü_ _r Elise_. Weird, but whatever; Danni was mesmerized. Maybe she'd fall asleep after all. Maybe that was the _lovey_ Jess had told him to give her for naptime.

"Really sorry for the interruption," he said, returning to his computer. He turned it so that he faced Danni, and found himself looking into those big brown eyes across the lab. "Anyway, as I was saying, today we're going to talk about-"

"Whose baby is that?" asked the girl in the Black Widow t-shirt.

"Um…"

"Is that one of the Avengers' kids?" She turned to the student seated next to her. "Some of the Avengers have kids, right?"

"Let me Google that for you," said a guy with a snarky tone Tony would appreciate.

The second girl eyed her classmate's t-shirt. "A true fan would know the answer to that. Did you buy the shirt to boost your grade?"

Her face went bright red, and Bruce felt the back of his neck prickling, too. He rubbed it as he spoke over the students and the tinny music box tinkle. "If you remember where we left off last time-"

Danni's cry cut him off again, and his eyes snapped up from his laptop screen to see that his prediction about the toys had been accurate. This time, when he scurried to put them back, she didn't stop crying. She wailed louder and harder, mouth opening so wide that he could see a few more tooth buds and her quivering uvula.

"What's wrong, Danni?" he asked, bending to pick her up. "Do you need a new diaper?"

He lifted her up, gave her a sniff, but didn't smell anything. She was still crying, though thankfully not screaming any more.

"Maybe you're hungry…You didn't take much of your bottle…"

The cries subsided to whimpers and occasional hiccups as he shifted Danni to one arm as he knelt to rifle through the diaper bag. This proved a less straightforward task than it should have, as she kept grabbing for his glasses and the pen from the pocket of his lab coat. Eventually he did find the bottles-empty-along with a can of formula. He'd have to mix it up with water, but he couldn't do that one-handed. The lab being seriously un-baby-proofed, he had no choice but to put Danni back in her Pack n Play.

It was like flipping a switch. She screamed again, so distressed she toppled over backward.

"Okay, okay, I won't do it again!" Bruce scooped her up, cradling her against his shoulder as he padded her back and bounced. Soothed, Danni popped her fingers into her mouth and looked up at him. "Seems like you just want to be held. I can do that."

He carried her back to his workstation, where his graduates were having a heated debate about which Avenger kid he might be babysitting. They went silent as soon as their screens showed him sitting down with the baby.

"Danni will be auditing our seminar today," Bruce joked, to a chorus of _awwwwwww_ s, "as part of SI's new Early Education Initiative."

"Gotta be Luke Cage's kid," said the girl who'd called the girl in the Black Widow shirt a poser. "He was on that Houston mission the other day. Does that mean the Avengers are on a mission right now?"

"I just googled Zodiac," the Let Me Google That For You guy said (Bruce really needed to learn his students' names). "Nothing new came up…"

"Yeah, because the Avengers totally get their intel from the mainstream media."

"They could just be at a movie or something," the Black Widow shirt-wearer shot back. "Avengers are people, too."

"Is that why you just posted that screencap of Dr. Banner holding a baby on your Tumblr? Because you respect his personhood?"

"Wait, what?" Bruce said, his view of the class on the screen obscured by slobbery fingerprints on his glasses as he wrestled them from Danni's hand again. "I'd take that down if I were you."

He wasn't sure he'd mustered much in the way of authority with a baby in his arms, but the girl frantically worked on her screen.

"Sorry, I'm sorry! It's deleted now!"

"It is," her classmate confirmed.

"Please don't flunk me!"

Bruce sighed. Effective though it was, it didn't create an atmosphere of academic freedom when your students were intimidated by your alter-ego.

"Good," he said. "You wouldn't want to experience how Ms. Jones deals with paparazzi who try to take pictures of her daughter."

That was one of the main reasons why they'd moved to Ithaca. Well, that and the job offer. The job he was supposed to be doing right now.

He got back to the lecture, but was much less aware of the words that were coming out of his mouth than the thoughts that swirled in his brain.

Cornell hadn't been the only offer. There had been other positions, at other universities, in other cities. _Bigger_ cities, New York included, where Bruce and Natasha had perfected the art of blending in. They didn't want that, though, not any more. Not the continued existence of hiding in plain sight. They wanted to be seen, not as celebrities-which was what a lot of those university boards wanted him for, even more than his genius-but as normal people were seen, as part of something. A community. A family _._

Danni had given up grabbing his glasses and his beard and the pen in his pocket. She had gone perfectly still in his arms, Bruce realized, except for the deep, steady rhythm of her breath. He felt the soft puffs of it, warm, against his neck, a wet spot growing on his shoulder where she drooled. He smelled her, baby lotion and milk, something vegetable, maybe strained carrots, the less pleasant ammoniac odor of a wet diaper. Whatever point he'd arrived at in high energy particles, he faltered.

"Dr. Banner?"

Bruce blinked at his computer screen, unsure which of the students who stared back at him with concerned expressions had spoken.

"Are you okay?" asked the girl in the Black Widow shirt.

 _Please. Talk to me_ , Natasha's voice whispered through his mind.

"I…" His voice cracked, and he felt the brittleness of the smile he fixed on his lips. "Sorry, guys, but I need to change a diaper. Get an early start on your weekend. See you next week."

"In person?"

"I don't know," Bruce replied, briefly unwrapping one arm from around Danni to shut off the webcam, then holding her more securely as he stood, resting his cheek against her thick curly hair.

He didn't know when he'd be back in Ithaca…or if. ( _We agreed to talk in_ whens _, not_ ifs.) The only thing he did know was that he wanted this. _God_ , he wanted it. For the first time in fifteen years, he'd not only allowed himself to want, but had it within his grasp, only for it to slip through his fingers.

Looping the diaper bag over one shoulder, he carried Danni out of the lab. Where in the Tower he should change her, he didn't know. Or if he should even change her now. He didn't want to wake her, as much for his own benefit of holding the peacefully sleeping baby for a while, as for Danni's.

As he descended the staircase slowly so as not to jostle the baby or worse, tumble down, the muffled sound of piano music reached his ears from the lounge below. He recognized a repeated note. Chopin? Teardrop Nocturne? No, Prelude. And it was the Raindrop. Had he left music playing last time he came down here? He didn't remember listening to Chopin recently…Didn't even remember when he'd last been out of the lab.

"FRIDAY, would you turn off the music?"

"Afraid I can't, Doc," she replied.

Bruce paused on the step, baffled by the AI's noncompliance, then he realized the piano music came from an actual piano-the seldom-used baby grand below in the lounge. And seldom-tuned, he thought, resuming his descent, a little quicker than before. Who in the world…?

At the bottom of the stairs, the glimpse of red hair over the music stand stopped him again. Not Natasha's deep auburn, but a subtler coppery shade.

"What are you doing here?" Bruce blurted out.

Mid-bar, the music stopped. The pianist raised her head, peering at him over the tops of her glasses that had slipped down her nose.

"I could ask you the same thing," said Aunt Susan, not giving him a smile in greeting. Not that he'd given her much of a greeting.

"Babysitting," he replied.

"Yes, I can see that."

Susan didn't ask who he was babysitting, just went on looking at him, waiting for him to provide answers to the more pertinent questions she didn't need to ask.

Instead, Bruce carried Danni to the sofa, where he lay her gently in the corner of the white leather cushion.

"How did you know I was here?" he asked as he sat beside the baby, placing the diaper bag at his feet and reaching in for a blanket.

"You wouldn't answer my calls," Susan replied. "I got worried and called Natasha."

She drew the piano lid down over the keys, got up from the bench and tucked it under the instrument. Belatedly, it occurred to Bruce he ought to have helped her move it, but he couldn't very well leave Danni unattended on a sofa; she might roll off, and he didn't want to have to explain that to Jessica.

Facing him, Susan said, "You left her."

"I didn't _leave_ leave her…That's not what she said, is it?"

"You stopped the adoption process. You came out of retirement." Susan ticked off the points, a checklist of his failures, as she came toward the sofa. She took off her glasses, let them dangle from the chain around her neck. "All because Natasha visited Brian?"

Bruce looked down, pretending to be intent on the contents of the diaper bag, though apparently the only blanket was the one he'd left in the crib in the lab.

Natasha's prison visit. The home study. The autobiography. The failed lullaby. They all had a common denominator: Brian Banner.

"He took your mother from you," Susan said. "Don't let him take Natasha, too. Your children."

" _Let_ him?" Bruce repeated as he stood, knocking over the diaper bag. A bottle rolled out, skittering across the floor. "I would'vve thought you of all people would know better than to victim blame."

Susan didn't back down. "When you were a little boy you were helpless against Brian's abuse. You're not a little boy anymore, you're a man. You're not helpless, you're an Avenger."

"The Hulk's the Avenger. Not me, I'm just the-"

"The Hulk is the frightened little boy."

 _Hulk not little boy_ , the Other Guy snarled in his head.

"Well. Not so little," Susan amended, a wry smile briefly pulling at her lips. "But you don't have to be a genius to see my point. Which you are."

 _Hulk not afraid_.

Danni whimpered on the sofa, then began to cry.

Of course Hulk was the child, Bruce thought, as he moved to pick up the baby. Tony had called him the protector, and he wasn't wrong, but the Hulk's protective instinct was a child's. Get hit, hit back. _Hulk smash._ That was why they had the lullaby.

"It's okay, _shh_ ," he murmured to Danni, patting her back.

"You're not helpless," Susan said. "So help yourself. Or if not yourself…Help Natasha. You're not the only one who's had old wounds opened."

 _That_ cut, but Bruce didn't argue. He thought of what Tony had said the other night. Of Natasha's joke about being raised by former Soviets for the glory of Mother Russia, which he'd brushed off.

"I've let her down," he said, sinking down on the sofa with Danni, who was gumming his shoulder.

"You still have a chance to pick her up."

He thought of her, on her mission in Detroit, and hoped she was okay. _You're a grown-ass man_ , Jessica had said. _Tell her yourself_.

Susan joined him on the sofa, reaching out to stroke his hair, brushing a kiss to the top of his head before she sat.

"I love you like you're my own son, you know. And it'll be the happiest day of my life when you have a family of your own. You're going to be a wonderful father."

"I want to be," he said.

For a moment neither of them spoke as Danni drifted back to sleep, then Susan looked at him in confusion. "Whose baby is this, anyway?"

* * *

When Danni had settled, Bruce left her with Susan and went back to the lab to call Natasha. To his surprise, she picked up.

"You're not in Detroit yet?"

"Are we not supposed to take personal calls during battle?" she replied with a little laugh. It was the best sound he'd heard in days. "Just about to land."

"I won't keep you long," Bruce said. "Just…I wanted to tell you I love you. And afterward, come back with Luke and Jess."

Static crackled as she sucked in a breath. "You're ready to talk?"

"The Other Guy learned how. It's past time I did, too."


	12. Chapter 11: Face Time

**11\. Face Time**

Something in Bruce had changed.

Natasha heard it in his voice when he called before the mission; now she saw it as she disembarked the quinjet at the Tower and found him waiting for her on the landing pad, hunched into the upturned collar of his coat, hands stuffed deep in the pockets, hair ruffled by the wind. Their eyes met and he straightened up, drew out his hands, reached for her as the distance between them closed. She came into his embrace, tucking her head beneath the scarf knotted at his chin, slipping her arms inside his coat.

Neither spoke. Bruce had told her he was ready to talk, but he didn't say anything right away, and neither did Natasha. Mostly because Jessica Jones did first.

"Where's my kid?" Clunky boots scuffed on the cement as Natasha turned, Bruce relaxing his embrace with a sigh she thought sounded as reluctant as she was to withdraw her arm from around his waist.

"Having a piano lesson with my Aunt Susan," he replied, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the lenses fogging in the cold.

Susan was here? When she called the day before to ask where Bruce was that he was ignoring her emails and calls, Natasha hadn't imagined the seventy-year-old would actually leave Dayton to speak to him in person.

Jess looked blasé. "I know we said we're fans of early education, but we actually prefer early bedtime."

Her husband was slightly more understanding, a knowing half-smile on Luke's face as he stood behind Jess with a hand on her hip. "Baby girl put up a bedtime fight?"

"I thought for sure when she skipped her nap she'd go right down…"

Jess snorted. "Rookie mistake, Banner."

She moved Luke's hand, pulling him by it toward the landing floor entrance. He twisted back to say over his shoulder, "And late bedtime _doesn't_ mean late wakeup. Just a protip."

If Bruce was surprised, or upset, by the bit of parenting advice and the implication that Luke and Jess knew of the adoption plans, he hid it well, mumbling appreciation and an apology for throwing off their routine. Natasha scrutinized him, trying to pinpoint what it is that was different about him since they parted after the disastrous Houston mission a week ago. She was so intent that she barely registered the swish of the automatic doors behind their teammates until Bruce's eyes snapped back to meet hers, clearly aware she'd been staring at him. Almost as if they were back at the start of things, secretly crushing on each other. Except that now they had the additional angst of a few heartbreaks between them.

"You shaved," she blurted out, though of course that was the obvious change, and not the deeper one she was trying to parse out.

He reached up, rubbed the pads of his fingers over his smooth chin and cheek as if this was a revelation to him. "Oh, um, yeah. After Tony and Thor took bets on the Hulk's facial hair…"

"Today they took bets on whether you'd gotten self-conscious."

"Of course they did." Behind the lenses of his glasses, his eyes closed. His hand fell to his side. "Actually it was because of the baby. Kept grabbing it. But nothing's going to convince Tony it wasn't because of him, is it?"

Natasha tried to reply _no_ , but the syllable caught in her throat with her rush of emotion. Ditching the beard he was so fond of because of a baby that was only in his care for a few hours seemed extreme. Was he thinking of their future again?

His fingers curled around hers, squeezing. "What happened in Detroit? All the news outlets are reporting about the GM building being destroyed? And some of the International Riverfront?"

"Not destroyed. Just…gone. They must have used the Zodiac Key to teleport it."

Of all reactions, Bruce smirked, and Natasha raised her eyebrows. His hand went up again, as if to physically wipe away the inappropriate expression.

"It's not funny," he said, "but I couldn't help but imagine Tony's commentary on economic domination through a bankrupt automobile company. Zodiac must be desperate."

"Oh, he totally made his relief known that Tesla wasn't transported across dimensions," Natasha replied, then went on, more seriously, "Actually, you're not far off with desperation. We think they're moving ahead with their plans faster than they intended because we've interfered with the long game."

"What _are_ their plans?" His gaze flickered over her head, to the quinjet.

"We don't know. Coulson's team's on it. And Jess."

"What can she do that SHIELD can't?"

"Shady back channel sources in Hell's Kitchen? She's going to try and locate Cornelius van Lunt. He's the key to all of this. Something big's going down, and soon. Detroit was just the test run."

Suddenly Bruce's arms went around her again, pulling her firmly against him. "Thank God you got out of there," he said into her hair.

Natasha relaxed into him, sharing his gratitude to be here, with him, and not making her own cosmic road trip with the civilians they hadn't managed to evacuate. She should probably feel guiltier about that…

"I'm sorry I wasn't there to help," Bruce said.

"Well…Our plan was retirement."

She felt him shake his head. "The plan was to be together. And I haven't been with you."

Natasha leaned back in the circle of his arms, just enough to look up into his face as he continued.

"I'm sorry. I will be, from now on."

"You better be." She didn't want to let him off the hook too easily, even as she grasped the front of his coat and tilted her head up toward him to feel the brush of his mouth between his murmurs.

"I will. I am."

She accepted his promises along with his kisses, but much as she'd missed the softness of his lips and his fingertips, it didn't feel right to take without giving. All their problems hadn't been caused by him.

"I'm sorry, too," she said, tracing a curl back from his forehead, the line of his forehead as his brows pulled together. "For going behind your back."

Bruce tensed against her, but didn't withdraw. His exhalation of breath steamed in the air. "I know why you did. I should've been open with you."

 _That_ was the difference. He wasn't closed off anymore. True, he hadn't opened the door wide yet, but he'd cracked it enough that a sliver of light shone into those rooms he'd kept darkened and locked for a lifetime.

He wanted her to come in.

* * *

The door opened wider in the dark of their room.

There was still so much they needed to talk out, but Natasha didn't press him; Bruce had already said far more tonight than he had in weeks, and the rest would keep till morning.

They made love and that, too, felt different. Bruce had always been able to pleasure her, but his own had been restrained. Afraid of losing control, she'd assumed, based on one amazingly awkward conversation about his last failed encounter with Betty Ross back when maintaining a low heart rate had been essential. Natasha accepted this fear as a part of their relationship which would hopefully lessen over time and with trust. She'd just been glad that physical intimacy was no longer off-limits to him. Now as he moved within her, cupped her breasts and kissed her deeply, whispered loving words in her ears that tickled and prickled up goosebumps along her neck, she understood what it was he'd held back: want. It reached to the core of her, matching her own, and she did her best to fill it up for him as he did for her.

Afterward, as she lay in his arms waiting for sleep, his voice rasped into the silence.

"I never even asked about what happened when you met hi-" He caught himself. She heard him swallow, then he amended, "My father."

Natasha didn't answer right away, picking at the edge of the sheet as she considered how to describe the prison visit, how much detail to give.

"He was hateful," she said, finally. "And I've known a lot of hateful people."

She held her breath, listened to Bruce's, the heavy puffs of his exhales, the long sharp intakes. Regulating himself, though she didn't detect his heartbeat speeding up at her back. His arm tensed around her middle, but when she scuffed her fingers over the bulging tendons in the back of his hand he relaxed, only to withdraw and roll away from her.

"Let me guess," he said, flopping onto his back. "He said I was a freak who was never supposed to be born?"

Natasha pushed up onto her elbow and flicked on the bedside lamp. She waited till her eyes adjusted, then turned to him. His gaze left the ceiling to meet hers.

"He did call you that," she said.

"He never intended to have kids," Bruce replied, raking his hands through his hair. "He thought he'd pass on the family taint. The _monster gene_. I was an accident."

Susan had mentioned the family history of abuse, starting with Bruce's grandfather.

"And then there was an actual accident at his lab." Bruce's voice had dropped, low, almost a growling quality to it. "He was drunk on the job, overloaded some machinery, caused an explosion."

"Was he injured?"

The pillow rustled as Bruce shook his head. "Not physically. But he decided the minimal radiation he'd been exposed to affected him on the genetic level. And, you know. The person he passed his genes to."

He lapsed into silence. Natasha waited, stroking the back of his hand where it rested on his stomach, but soon it became apparent he wasn't going to offer any more details.

"For what it's worth," she said, "I think it's completely normal you don't want to think about him, let alone read what he has to say. Or hear it." Hell, _she_ didn't want to, wished she could forget that monstrous face, that raging voice. "I wasn't exaggerating when I told you I wanted to kill him."

Now who was the monster? She looked away, but Bruce brought his free hand to cup her cheek, gently turning her back to face him.

"That's…oddly touching?"

The lines of his forehead arched upward with his wry grin, and she laughed softly, leaning into his palm, then pressing her lips to it. Only Bruce…

"Do you think I should?" he asked. "Go see my father? I don't forgive him. I can't."

Is that what he thought she, Aunt Susan, Bonita Juarez, expected him to do?

"You don't need to," Natasha said. "I couldn't forgive Madame B or the others in the Red Room for stealing my childhood and making me into a killer. But if I had the chance to face them, I think I would."

"I _know_ you would," Bruce said, his thumb stroking her cheek, fingers working back into the tangled hair at her nape. "Without flinching. Just like you face everything."

He sat up, and Natasha thought for a moment he meant to kiss her again. Instead he looked her in the eye and asked, "What would you tell them?"

Without hesitation she answered, "That their teaching failed. That they couldn't program me because I'm not a machine. Or a monster."

At least, when she saw the way Bruce was looking at her, she believed it.

"But they're all gone," she said. "I can never really have any resolution. All I can do is move from my past and try to make the future the best I can."

"Is that…unsatisfying?"

"Yeah," she replied, hoarsely, and blinked back a sting in her eyes. "But it is what it is. And," she added, taking his hand, lacing their fingers together, "what would be right for me isn't what's necessarily right for you."

"This obviously hasn't been right for me. Or us. Or our family."

They would have a family. They _were_ a family. Natasha shifted to lie down with him again, tucking herself into his side, head resting in the crook of his shoulder.

"I wish I had your courage," he said.

"You have more courage than you give yourself credit for." Natasha spread her hand across his chest, felt the wiry hair, the warmth of his skin, and the beat of his heart beneath. "And you have me."

* * *

Institutional green paint peeled away to reveal heavy steel. The interview cell door, along with the armed guard posted in front of it, made Hulk's hackles rise. Bruce's, too-that old fear of being caged, even though he knew this time, the cell wasn't meant for him, was in fact already occupied.

Either his discomfort was obvious, or Natasha anticipated it. She stroked his pulse point, leaned up to speak huskily in his ear. "I feel the same way, big guy."

He glanced at her, remembered she had as much reason to fear lock-up as him, and returned the reassuring pressure of her fingers. Brought her hand up to brush his lips across her knuckles.

Neither of them were monsters. They fought monsters. More importantly, some people deemed them fit for the role of banishing them from children's closets.

But first, his own.

Bruce let out a long breath, then nodded to the guard.

Brian had lost visiting privileges after his violent outburst toward Natasha. When Bruce learned this, he nearly took the easy out, fell back to his habit of avoidance, and gave up on the idea of confrontation. Natasha wouldn't let him, of course; she and Aunt Susan, in possession of her own, equally formidable set of persuasive powers, convinced the warden to make an exception for Brian's son, who'd never once darkened the door of the Lima State Hospital the entire time he'd been an inmate. The warden agreed, under the condition that extra precautions would be taken to ensure it didn't happen again in this potentially more volatile encounter.

One of those precautions was that the confrontation would not take place at a visitation booth. Instead, they would meet in a private interview room, the open door to which Bruce, following a final murmur of encouragement from Aunt Susan and a kiss from Natasha, released her hand to step through.

Brian already sat inside, his orange-clad back to the door, hunched over the table. Bruce hesitated, Natasha and Susan stopping behind him. His throat tightened; Hulk growled.

As a child, Brian's towering height had intimidated even when not coupled with the brute strength it was capable of leveling against Bruce. He'd thought that since he was grown, he wouldn't feel so small in his father's presence. But even seated, Brian loomed.

A sick taste filled Bruce's mouth as he pictured the scene Natasha had described of Brian lunging at her, wielding a telephone receiver like a medieval chain mace against the glass. He swallowed down the bile. There would be none of that today, with the shackles fixed to a ring in the floor, cuffed hands to a bar at the edge of the table-the other precautions. Hulk huffed, less than impressed by the feeble restraints, but Bruce proceeded into the room, making his way around the table to face his father.

Only when he was separated from him by a scant three feet of Formica did it occur to him that he had absolutely no idea what he was going to say.

"You look bigger on TV," Brian said.

Why had Bruce ever thought he'd be given the chance to speak first?

"And greener. Same hair, though. Like your mother."

His voice was slightly raspier with age, but otherwise exactly as Bruce remembered it. Had it ever uttered a kind word? None that he could recall.

"This is the first time I've seen my son as a grown man," Brian went on, almost conversationally to Natasha as she seated herself in the chair to the right of the one Bruce continued to stand behind. "Can you believe it?"

Bruce's jaw throbbed, as though he and the Other Guy both clenched it in dislike of Brian talking to her, stoically as she took it. When she didn't respond, his eyes flicked back to Bruce, narrowing to black slits as they scrutinized him.

"That is… _if_ you're a man, Bruce. Are you? Or is that why you've stayed away all this time? Because you're still just a scared little boy crying into his mother's skirt? Or his dear auntie's," he snarled. "You kept him away from me all these years, didn't you, Susie? Poisoned _my_ son against me because you were jealous your husband walked out on you without giving you any of your own."

"Oh, Brian," Susan said with a shake of her head, "you're confusing the way your twisted mind works with the way everybody else's does."

Like Natasha, her ability to remain unshaken by him-or to appear so-helped Bruce to find his center and speak at last.

"I didn't stay away because I was afraid of you."

Brian leaned back in his chair, as far as his restrained wrists would allow, regarding Bruce from beneath eyebrows arched in what seemed, for a moment, to be genuine curiosity. "Why did you, then? Because you were angry?"

He couldn't keep the cutting edge out of his voice, and his sharp gaze dropped. Against his will Bruce followed it to his own hands, tendons flexing across his knuckles as he clutched the back of the chair.

"What happens when you're angry, son? Do you lose control like your old man? Do you become something even worse?" The deep lines of his face cracked open in a grin, the crookedness of it jarring as it revealed a row of straight white teeth. "I always said, I passed you the monster gene. Don't get angry right now. Not with the woman you love right here. So small and fragile."

The legs of the chair screeched over Hulk's rising roar as Bruce dragged it out and sat down next to Natasha. She caught his hand beneath the table, and he stole a glance at her, looked into her unblinking green eyes until he could meet his father's again. _You have more courage than you give yourself credit for. And you have me._ He wouldn't trade her for all the courage in the world.

"Does it make you feel better about yourself to believe I'm worse than you?" he asked. "I'm not the one chained to my chair."

Brian's leer dropped into a glower. "Because you have your rich and powerful friends to protect you. Not to mention your alter ego. Only reason they haven't locked you up and thrown away the key's because they can't control him."

"But _I_ can," Bruce countered. "That's what separates me from you. I take responsibility for my actions. I've spent my whole life trying not to be you instead of resigning myself to some genetic code for evil."

He hadn't always succeeded. Over the past few days, he'd come to the realization that he'd taken after his father in more ways than he ever knew. Running away, for example, seemed to be a hereditary disposition; Brian had cut off all ties with Susan and their sister Elaine to avoid the memories of his own painful childhood.

"You didn't have to be this way," Bruce went on. "You didn't have to be here."

The links between the handcuffs clanked against the bar. Rather than explode with the insane rage he braced for, an animal struggling to break free of its bonds, Brian hunched lower so he could rub his chin, the stubble rasping against his hand.

"I thought like you once. Thought the love of a good woman would change me. Save me." His hands fell, shoulders broadened as he sat up straight, shedding the cloak of sanity he'd worn so briefly. "But then your bitch of a mother abandoned me."

" _Abandoned you_? You beat her black and blue and she stayed. She only tried to leave when you started in on me."

"Rebecca loved you more than me! From the moment you were born, you ruined everything!"

"And you smashed her head into the driveway. Right in front of me."

Blood and bits of brain tissue stained the concrete, even the weeds that grew up through the cracks. Covered up the chalk drawings Bruce had labored over for hours to keep out of his father's way. Coated his face.

Untangling his fingers from Natasha's, he pulled off his glasses and wiped at the sticky, wet warmth he felt there now. Sweat and tears.

Out the corner of his eye, she watched him steadily. On his other side, Susan sniffled.

"I was seven years old. And I've seen it again every day for the last forty."

"You think I haven't?" Brian retorted. "What else do I have to think about in here and wish it hadn't come to that?"

He was so passive about his own role, unrepentant. Imprisoned by his past long before he was hauled away from the murder scene in cuffs.

Bruce got to his feet, acutely aware of his unfettered movement. His head buzzed with freedom. No, that was an actual buzz, from overhead, the flickering fluorescent lightbulb. His mind was as quiet as it had been since the accident.

Longer.

He drew a square of paper from his pants pocket. Unfolded it. Cleared his throat and read aloud.

 _"_ Describe the family you grew up in. Was there any drug or alcohol dependency in your family history? If so, how has this affected you?"

"What's this?" Brian interrupted.

"Describe the discipline and child rearing practices your parents used."

"Some therapy worksheet bullshit?"

Bruce looked up from the typed list of questions. "It's a guide for writing my biography."

"Hulk write memoir, Hulk air dirty laundry, Hulk get rich?"

"It's part of a home study. So Natasha and I can adopt."

He hadn't intended to divulge anything of their future plans to his father, and his head snapped to her in alarm. Thankfully, her lips twitched in the faintest smile that she approved. Nothing held back now.

Brian's chains rattled as he threw back his head back and cackled. "I thought you were supposed to be a genius. You can't honestly believe any social worker in their right mind would give _you_ a kid when you put _My daddy drank too much and smacked me around and killed my mother in front of me_?"

Bruce hesitated, listening for the Other Guy.

Hulk remained silent.

"Aren't you supposed to be a genius, too? I will write that that I was born into a broken and abusive home, and that I witnessed my mother's murder at the hands of my alcoholic father. But the home where I was raised?"

He lay his free hand on Susan's shoulder, felt the shudder of her silent tears.

"Aunt Susan provided me with a loving, stable environment where I learned how to see beauty in the world and value in myself. Most importantly," he said over Brian's scoff, "she taught me to do the good I could in the world, and that it was possible to break the cycle."

She looked up at him, eyes warm and rich, and he thought she'd never looked as proud of him as she did now. Not when he graduated Valedictorian of Science High, or even when he earned his PhD from Harvard.

Couldn't remember his mother gazing with him with more love.

Susan reached for his hand, and he helped her up. Natasha stood, too, pressed her hand into the small of his back as he stepped around the table.

"You were incredible, Bruce." He felt her words as a breath at the back of his neck.

"Adoption!" Brian called out as Bruce rapped on the locked door to alert the guard that the visit had come to an end. "That's good, son. No genetics involved. Means you won't pass on the Banner taint. It'll die with you."

Bruce halted in the open doorway, one hand braced on the frame. The bastard always had to have the last word, as well as the first, and had succeeded in being even crueler than he intended to be. He had no idea genetics _couldn't_ be involved.

"No, Dad," Bruce said, without so much as a backward glance. "It'll die with you."

* * *

 _ **A/N: One more chapter (I think) and an epilogue to go, folks…And I'm determined to get them out before**_ **Captain America: Civil War** _ **'s US release. Until then, I'd love to know what you thought of this one!**_


	13. Chapter 12: Swan Song

**12\. Swan Song**

Bruce was ignoring Natasha's texts.

She knew he'd gotten them, because she was watching through the lecture hall door and saw him falter mid-sentence and touch his pocket when his phone vibrated. Twice. Neither time did he take it out, not even just a fraction to check who the text was from. Just went on with the lecture as if he'd barely registered the alerts.

Actually, it appeared less a lecture than a discussion. Hitching her duffle bag up her shoulder, she peered through the window slit at the dozen grad students who'd arranged their seats in a semicircle, while Bruce leaned back against the professor's desk. If not for the 3D models projected behind him, Natasha might have thought he was simply carrying on casual conversation about whatever blockbuster had hit theaters last weekend, he appeared that relaxed. Well-as relaxed as a person could be who fidgeted constantly, pushing up or pulling off his glasses, playing with the back of his hair. Nervous tics aside, Bruce truly looked as rested as she'd seen him in all the years since she was first assigned to tail him at Culver, including during the honeymoon stage of their relationship.

Confronting Brian had shattered him. He'd been keyed up walking out of the Lima State Hospital after the visit, but conked out before the car passed through the gates, slept all the way to Aunt Susan's, and remained half-unconscious as Natasha hauled him upstairs to his bedroom. It hadn't been unlike the bone-deep exhaustion that followed Hulking out, except that when he slept straight through to the next morning, he woke more than recovered. He was energized. _Free_ of the weight he'd carried for so long, which everyone had always assumed was the Hulk. Unlike at Christmas, he no longer seemed to feel caged in the house that contained so many trappings of his childhood.

"Is he…gone?" Natasha had asked as he shoveled his aunt's sidewalk and driveway, the neighbor kids who'd helped over the holiday back in school.

"No, but he's quiet. Not as close to the surface, if that makes any sense. Like he decided I can take care of myself."

"The beta male submitting to the alpha?"

Bruce had flushed at that, but said, "Yeah, actually. Maybe."

"Maybe we should test that in the field."

He hadn't disagreed.

A buzz at Natasha's wrist dragged her attention briefly to her watch, which flashed with a text from Steve: _ETA 15 min._ She didn't have time to dawdle, but she still hesitated to knock on the lecture hall door. Bruce's semester had gotten off to a rough start, between conducting his lectures remotely, or while babysitting, or missing them altogether when they went to Ohio, and she hated to interrupt yet one more. Another part of her simply enjoyed the opportunity to watch him teach. She'd seen him in the lab, engrossed in research projects, but the classroom was a new context.

Lecturing had never been his favorite part of academia, he'd told her back when they first began to talk seriously about what life after the Avengers might look like for them. He hadn't hated it, but in his Harvard and Culver days, he'd always vaguely resented anything that took him from the lab, from his research, and he'd been impatient with the students at times. Since the accident, teaching held a new appeal: it was quiet, for one thing; like doctoring, it provided an opportunity to do good, by sharing his knowledge-and warning about the consequences of unchecked curiosity. Although even with the perspective of age and experience, grading midterms and final exams still made him grumpy.

At the moment, subatomic particles weren't the only part of this physics seminar that qualified as high energy. Bruce's grin widened, hand gestures grew increasingly animated, clearly getting more out of this lecture than public service. He called on a student, and Natasha's own smile stretched as she watched him lean back against the desk, head tilted to listen, the university environment giving way to the image of him at home, helping with homework at the kitchen table.

She dragged her eyes from him to the half-circle of students, not quite as young as the kids in her daydream, but kids nonetheless. Younger than she'd ever been. All of them looking star-struck, or half in love. Like the girl currently talking, who kept fiddling with her necklace with coy flicks of her manicured fingertips.

Natasha's smile fell as she noticed the girl was wearing a Black Widow t-shirt. Should she be flattered, or…something else?

A pair of eyes met hers through the glass, and the student beside the girl in the Black Widow shirt put up one hand, pointed to the door with the other. Bruce looked to the door, brow furrowed, face relaxing again as Natasha gave him a little wave. She read his lips as he pushed off the desk: _Excuse me for a moment._

He only opened the door far enough to squeeze through and step out into the hall, but before he shut it again she caught their whispers. _That's Romanoff…Black Widow!...Do you think she noticed my shirt?_

"How long have you been standing there?" asked Bruce, his hand on her elbow drawing her just out of sight of the window in the door.

"Only a few minutes. I hate to interrupt yet another class, but-"

"You got the call?"

"I got the call."

In the bright light of the hall, she saw the flicker across Bruce's face. _She_ got the call. Not him.

"New York City," she elaborated. "Team's swinging by to pick me up."

"And me."

Natasha patted the duffel bag. "That's why I brought your stretchy pants."

"I adore you." Bruce pulled her in for a quick kiss, drawing the bag off her shoulder to carry it for her.

"Cute as your ass is…" Natasha gave it a discreet squeeze. "…I prefer not to share it with the world." She added, lower, with a glance at the door, "Or with all the coeds crushing on you."

"They're not crushing on me," he protested, without much conviction. "Better tell them class is dismissed…Really going for Professor of the Year here, with the attendance…."

No one minded-at least that was the only conclusion to draw from their eager questions about whether the Avengers had another mission.

"Yes, and I _promise_ , this will be my last one…"

Natasha side-stepped him in the doorway, zeroed in on the girl in the Black Widow tee.

"Nice shirt," she said. The girl had wondered if she'd noticed, after all. "Widow your favorite Avenger? I hear she's Dr. Banner's, too."

* * *

The roar of approaching jet engines greeted them as they made their way out of the Physical Sciences Building, followed by Bruce's grad students, and stepped outside just as it touched down on the snowy Arts Quad.

"Oh, the dean isn't gonna be happy about this…" he commented as they stepped off the curb to cross the street, staggering a little in a snowdrift. They hadn't taken the time to stop by his office to get his snow boots or his coat, and he shivered in only his suit jacket, his socks damp.

"Someone else isn't, either," Natasha said.

He knew she meant Cap, who'd benched him after Houston-and rightly so. However, when they clambered aboard the quinjet, recorded by students' smart phones, it was Thor who greeted Bruce with a thunderous expression.

"Now it's I who owe you, Stark," he boomed, throwing a glance over his shoulder toward the cockpit. "Banner _did_ shave."

"I know my Science Bro like I know myself!" Tony's voice drifted back to the hold.

Bruce looked up from the sludge he'd tracked in to Natasha, who was smirking. She'd called it. Honestly, they were so damn predictable. _He_ should've bet actual money on this, to put toward the kids' college tuitions.

"Tony," he called, "you're the least self-aware person I've ever met."

"Wait, you're _here_?" Tony emerged from the cockpit. "I just thought Romanoff showed Thor a picture." He stopped almost toe-to-toe with Bruce, chin raised as if to make himself a taller as he sized him up. "Nice of you to come see us off. I'd give those baby smooth cheeks a goodbye kiss, but. You owe me an apology."

Although Bruce did regret the way he'd acted the last time they'd seen each other, he suspected Tony wasn't deeply wounded as much as he enjoyed playing the martyr.

Before he could apologize Cap, who'd been silent up till now, surprised by Bruce's presence, spoke up. "Far be it from me to come between friends-"

"Really?" Tony's gaze flickered over Bruce's shoulder. "Far be it from _you_?"

The muscles in Cap's jaw flexed as impressively as the rest of them did. "Zodiac's taking New York City hostage, one neighborhood at a time. Can you two hash this out _after_ we get back?"

"Can't we just let them have Hell's Kitchen?" Tony asked. "It's nobody's loss, and Matty and the Defenders-Striptease!" he interrupted himself as Bruce shrugged off his jacket, shucked it onto a seat, then set to work loosening his tie. Flopping on the seat with the discarded sportcoat, Tony hooked his fingers behind his head and waggled his eyebrows. "Now _this_ is my kind of apology-slash-send-off."

"It's not an apology," Bruce said, tugging the tie free of his collar. "Or a send-off."

Natasha punched the control to close the bay doors, to the dismay of the crowd of students and faculty. Cap looked at her, eyebrows high on his forehead. "This is why you wanted us to pick you up on campus. So you could recruit Banner for the mission."

"We could use him."

"We could." Cap's words were agreeable, but his tone was the opposite. "If he wasn't too volatile."

"I'm not."

Bruce stood beside her, facing Cap. It wasn't the first time he'd voiced disagreement with him, but he dispensed with being deferential. Steve Rogers wasn't the most intimidating person he'd stood up to that week.

"This won't be a repeat of Houston," he said. "I brought baggage with me that day. Today it's just me and Hulk."

"Um," Tony said, "I hate to diminish that by pointing this out, but…you brought an actual duffel bag."

Bruce kept his gaze trained on Cap, saw his resolve starting to crumble.

"We didn't plan for Hulk," he said.

"When have we ever stuck with a plan?"

Natasha's question eroded Cap's determination a little more. Something like a grin started to form at the corners of his mouth as he shook his head.

"I concur," Thor boomed.

"You trust him?" Cap asked. "You're the one who had to track him down through the bayou last time and bring him around."

The back of Bruce's neck prickled with the reminder of Thor half-carrying him wrapped in his cape.

Thor looked as if this was the most obvious thing in the Nine Realms. "That Natasha trusts him is enough for me."

Catching Bruce's eye, she said, "It's not my trust that should convince you all. It's that Bruce trusts himself."

The quinjet had never been more completely silent than it was now, as the point sank in. Even Tony went wordlessly back to the cockpit.

"So," Bruce said, shouldering the duffle bag, then jerking his thumb toward the lavatory, "I'm gonna go change. Then you can tell me what you need smashed."

* * *

Ideally, nothing needed to be smashed, though the gold-plated rubble at Hulk's feet attested to the fact that reality was quite a different thing. The dust from the Statue of Liberty's fallen torch was still settling around him, powdering his skin and hair and apparently his nasal passages, given his succession of gale force sneezes.

"Gesundheit," called Natasha from nearby, where she pinned a moaning Zodiac henchman to the ground with a knee between his shoulder blades.

Hulk's head swung her way, and he grunted, maybe in thanks, maybe not. For a moment he stared at her, the brilliant green of his eyes muddied with brown, reflecting the shimmering grid that enclosed Liberty Island like a spider's web glistening with beads of morning dew. That was the work of Leo Fitz, adapted on a nanoscale from Nova Corps tech to contain the weaponized Zodiac Key and create an arena where the Avengers could fight Taurus, aka Cornelius van Lunt.

A sizzling sound drew his gaze, and Natasha followed it over her shoulder just in time to see the lights glitz out.

"It's okay, Big Guy," she said, "just SHIELD lowering the barrier."

He snorted, either in response to SHIELD, or still affected by the dust, the rumble in his chest mingling with the hum of helicopter blades. The choppers descended through the low winter clouds, and agents in tactical gear rappelled down onto the island.

Natashakept an eye on Hulk as the SHIELD agents rattled past, armed and armored, saw his calf muscles flex, fingers fist, battle-ready should anyone turn on him.

"They're just here for Zodiac," she reassured, getting up to transfer custody to an agent who fitted her prisoner with cuffs.

Dusting off her hands, she approached Hulk, slowly. "Our job's done _._ "

His crooked grin started to pull, only to disappear again as he shuffled backward. "No lullaby."

Her hand froze, suspended in the air where she'd reached out to him. She'd encouraged Bruce's wish to go on one last mission, in small part to test his control, in larger to be sure she was on good terms with both of them. Somehow, she hadn't truly believed Hulk wouldn't be.

Or maybe it wasn't that at all. Maybe Hulk was just wary of SHIELD.

"I agree, no lullaby just yet." Phil Coulson strode up, the sleeves of the white dress shirt he wore beneath his Kevlar vest rolled up to his elbows. "Seems like Bruce is the one who always gets to attend the after parties."

If by _attend the after parties_ he meant _deal with the fallout_ , Natasha thought, raising an eyebrow at Coulson.

"It's only fair that Hulk should get to bask in the glow of victory every now and then," he added.

Hulk stood up straighter, barrel chest puffing, clearly pleased with Coulson's idea. It was nicely done, and she was touched that he was looking out for her. He understood better than anyone what was going on between her and Hulk, since she'd confided in him about her communication breakdown with Bruce.

"Fine work today," Coulson said. "Both of you. Van Lunt's in SHIELD custody, and we've secured the Ankh. Now it's only a simple matter of tracking down the rest of the Zodiac Cartel and restoring the GM building to Detroit."

"Stark will ask whether that's really worth the effort," Natasha remarked, and his eyes crinkled in a wry expression that told her Stark already had.

"Most importantly," he went on, "thanks to Agent Fitz's literal shield, we were able to do all of that with no civilian casualties and minimal damage."

His gaze dropped to the rubble at the base of the statue.

"Sorry," Hulk muttered, toeing at a broken hunk of steel.

"No need to apologize. We'll blame the bad guy who used it as a staging ground for teleporting New York to another dimension. Not a very original location to launch a hostile takeover. It's like van Lunt watched too many superhero movies."

Natasha chuckled, not at the joke but at van Lunt's scowl as he overheard it while two burly agents frog-marched him past. His ridiculous costume, though, made it impossible for her resist a pun of her own.

"How's that for taking the bull by the horns?"

Hulk huffed out a laugh, the lines of his massive green face pulling into the same expression that crossed Bruce's when she made goofy jokes.

"Anyway," Coulson said, "that was probably the easiest mission we've ever had. Well, maybe not _easy_. Smoothest sailing. From Jones' intel on van Lunt, to SHIELD getting the barrier in place so you guys could go nuts."

"You sound disappointed," Natasha said.

Coulson looked amused. "I'm really not. Just in unfamiliar territory. What do you do after a major operation when there's not an avalanche of paperwork?"

"Good time to retire."

"Mm." Coulson slipped his hands into his pockets, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Audrey would like that."

His phone rang, and he slipped it out of his pocket, stepping off to take the call, leaving Natasha alone with Hulk once more.

"Are you still angry with me?" she blurted out.

If she'd learned anything in the past few weeks, it was that it was better to get it out there than to wonder.

His grin fell, brown flecks all but disappeared from his irises. "Widow go behind puny Bruce's back. But…" He puffed out a breath which rustled her hair as he shuffled closer to her, the pad of his finger rough through her sleeve as he stroked her forearm. "Bruce forgive. Hulk forgive Tasha, too."

She started to thank him, but her throat closed up. Even if her own emotion hadn't gotten the better of her, the contemplative look on his face would have silenced her.

"Bruce not so puny anymore. Bruce grow."

"Yeah." Natasha choked out, nodding in agreement. "Bruce grew a lot."

"When need Hulk again?"

He lifted watery eyes to her. _That_ was why he hadn't been ready for a lullaby. He wasn't ready to go away, because he didn't know when he'd be back. For all Bruce had struggled against Hulk, wanted nothing but to be free of him, the prospect of not seeing him for the foreseeable made Natasha sad, too.

"I don't know, Big Guy."

After a moment's hesitation, she reached up, and his arms went around her, lifting her into a hug that made her feel like a ragdoll.

As he was setting her down on the ground again, Coulson rejoined them, pocketing his phone.

"That was the Secretary General of the UN. She wants to give you all medals."

"Hulk want shiny medal."

"I told her to make one super-sized."

Nearby, a photographer snapped a picture of the three of them. Hulk wheeled around, and the wide-eyed man visibly shook in his boots.

"Um, sorry, I'm with the _Bulletin_ …If you'd rather I don't take your pic-"

"Take again. Hulk not smiling in first one."

The photographer's sigh of relief was evident, but he said, "Um, it's okay…I just wanted a candid-"

" _Hulk. Smile._ " He bared his teeth in an expression that was more grimace than grin, and Natasha's stomach cramped from the effort of containing her laughter as he pulled her and Coulson in for a group portrait.

"Okay." The photographer complied, and had barely let the flash fade before he scurried away with a "Thank you."

"Wait," Hulk called. "Banner's turn."

The next thing Natasha knew, Bruce was sagging between her and Coulson.

"What's going on?" he asked, blinking dazedly as if he'd just woken from a nap.

"Hulk wanted you to have your picture taken for the _Bulletin_ ," she said, pointing toward the photographer.

"I…don't have a shirt on."

He was shivering, shirtless in the winter cold, and Natasha pulled him closer against her, saying as she smiled for the camera, "At least you're wearing pants."

* * *

Appearing shirtless in the papers, Bruce discovered, turned out to be the least uncomfortable part of defeating the Zodiac Cartel. Standing up on a stage in front of the UN, broadcast live on international television, and being presented with a Hulk-sized Service Medal because the Secretary General hadn't realized Coulson was joking, was much worse. Her flush of embarrassment didn't help, nor did her whispered _I thought the Big Guy was going to be here_ as Bruce tried to look dignified rather than like he was dying a little bit on the inside. Beside him, Tony was dying, too-of laughter.

Afterward there was a swanky reception in the Delegates Dining Room, but Bruce slipped out to the plaza to take a moment to himself before he was forced to mingle. He found a bench and sat in the shadow of the knotted gun barrel of the _Non-Violence_ sculpture, closed his eyes and loosened his bowtie and let his mind drift as he listened to the flap of the world flags and the splash of a fountain.

And Tony's voice, right in front of him. "What do you say let's blow this popsicle stand, pick up some shawarma, go to the Tower, get wasted?"

"Can't," Bruce replied, without opening his eyes. "Tasha and I have a meeting with our social worker first thing tomorrow morning."

"Aw, come on, Bruce, you owe me-what? Social worker?"

Now Bruce looked up at Tony.

"We're adopting," he said. "Or trying to. I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. And for being an asshole."

"Apology accepted," Tony said, giving his head a rapid shake. "Sorry, I'm still trying to wrap my mind around this concept. You're going to adopt…a kid? Not a puppy?"

"What clued you in?" Sarcasm crept in despite the fact that this was supposed to be an apology. "The daddy issues?"

"Your meltdown over his letters suddenly makes _so_ much sense." Tony dropped onto the bench beside him. "You're going to be a dad. Wow."

"I hope-"

Tony seized his lapels, gripped by new urgency. "Does this mean I need to go shopping for a bridesmaid's dress? Can I personally request that there be no bows on the back?"

"No one's put a bow on the back of a bridesmaid dress since the 90s," Natasha said as she emerged from around the corner of the sculpture.

"What's wrong with bows?" Bruce asked, a little dazzled as he took in her curvy figure in the jade green gown that barely had a back to put a bow on.

Natasha pressed her lips together, smothering a grin. As she sat on the arm of the bench, her fingers finding their way into his hair, mussing it free of the gel he'd applied too liberally before the ceremony.

"It's a non-issue," she told Tony. "One major life change at a time."

They'd talked, finally, about the marriage question people kept bringing up. Neither of them needed that to be assured of the other's commitment to their partnership. At least not for now.

"You're right," Tony said, nodding in agreement as he stood, adjusted his dinner jacket. "Being a godfather will be enough of a transition."

Bruce got up, too, and exchanged looks with Natasha. But Tony, misty-eyed, pulled them in for hugs.

"Seriously, this is fantastic. Couldn't happen to a-I was going to say _nicer_ , but neither of you really are-a more deserving couple."

"We've still got a ways to go in the process," Bruce said. "Our social worker's reviewing our autobiographies now."

"Think she'll want mine, too?"

"Doubtful," Natasha replied.

"Ah. Well. I'll go home and work something up just in case."

* * *

The last time they were in Bonita Juarez's office, Natasha could barely get Bruce to look her in the eye. Today he held her hand as they entered, only letting it go when Bonita extended hers to shake it.

"Natasha, Bruce," she greeted. "It's so good to see you again."

"We didn't think you would," Natasha said.

"But you did," said Bruce.

Bonita gave a knowing smile. "I won't go so far as to say _I told you so_ , but I will say aren't you glad I kept your case file open?"

She gestured for them to take a seat in front of her desk. Bruce's fingers twined together with Natasha's again as they settled into the chairs.

"Things have changed since our last meeting," Bonita observed.

Natasha felt as nervous as she had then, but knowing he was truly with her, whatever the outcome, helped. But then Bruce's hand went slack as something on the desk caught his eye: yesterday's _Bulletin_ , the front page photo of the UN ceremony.

"You're decorated heroes, for one thing" Bonita said.

"Does that make us more qualified to adopt?" Bruce joked to diffuse his own discomfort. Natasha stroked the edge of his hand with her thumb.

"Actually I'm more impressed with your autobiographies," Bonita said, opening the file in front of her. "It's one thing to face supervillains, another entirely to face our own pasts and the people who wound us the deepest. Clearly you've worked hard and made a lot of progress since we last met." Her gaze dropped to their joined hands. " _Together."_

Bruce squeezed Natasha's fingers and darted a sideways glance at her, giving her a small smile. She returned it.

"Though I _do_ have to address your return to the Avengers," Bonita went on. "From what I've read in the papers, there are still Zodiac cells to bring down?"

Natasha understood the unspoken question. "There are, but we won't be assisting with that. We're officially retired."

"Weren't you before?"

Not wanting to be the one to do all the talking, but not sure whether Bruce wanted to answer this, she looked to him. He pressed her hand again, then released it.

"I've always been a reluctant Avenger. Don't get me wrong, I was glad to be able to help, to use that strength as a force for good, but…there was always a risk in unleashing him. The goal was not to have to take it. But when we began this process…I felt endangered."

"By your father."

"I guess I turned to the Hulk to rescue me. It…didn't go so well."

"But according to the interviews, you've gotten more control over him than ever. Doesn't that tempt you? You can save the world without risk."

"We've saved the world," Natasha said. "Now it's time to live in it."

In reply, Bonita pushed back from her desk and stood, wearing a slight smile. A secret smile, or the look of a person about to reveal one. She went to her bookshelf, where a votive candle stood, and held her hand over it.

A flame flickered to life.

"You…you have pyrokinesis," Bruce stammered. "How…?"

Terrigenesis? Was Bonita an Inhuman?

"I was near a fallen meteorite," she answered with a shrug. "Beyond that, I don't know."

Bruce pulled at the ends of his hair. "The radiation…maybe neutron? If you came to the lab, I could-"

"He's about to nerd out on you," Natasha said.

"Sorry." Bruce stopped tugging at his hair, and his hand slid to the back of his neck which, like the tops of his ears, had gone red.

"No worries," said Bonita. "But I don't need to know. I thought about finding out. Put on a mask and suit of my own for a while, back in New Mexico. Called myself Firebird."

Was that in any of SHIELD's files? None Natasha had ever seen.

"Why did you stop?"

"Because I already had a job to do."

Bonita put her hand over the candle, and the flame shrank and guttered out, leaving a curling trail of smoke.

Moving back to the desk, she said, "Which brings me back to the question I asked at the end of our first meeting. Why do two former superheroes want to adopt a child?"

Natasha looked at Bruce. Her chest was tight, her throat was, too, but his nod, his hand covering hers on the armrest, helped her to get the words out she'd first said to him so long ago, in Clint's farmhouse, after Wanda made her relive the nightmare memory of the Red Room's "graduation ceremony."

"Neither of us can have them biologically," she said hoarsely. "We want our family to include children."

"Like people do," Bruce added.

Bonita looked pleased with this answer, lowered herself into her desk chair, and reached for another file folder from a tray in the corner of her desk.

"I know some children who want a family. They'll be very lucky to be a part of yours."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Many thanks to Malintzin, without whom I would have been stuck on that post-battle scene forever. I'm equally thankful for all the readers who've stuck with this story for the past few months and offered such kind feedback. I hope the loose ends have been tied up to your satisfaction. Look for an epilogue in a couple of days. (And to all you lucky enough to get to see Captain America: Civil War this weekend, enjoy, and please don't spoil me, because I have to wait a week. ;))**_


	14. Epilogue: Postscript

**Epilogue: Postscript**

Bruce barely registered the knock on the door, except that he began to write faster. He pressed his lips together, hunched further over his desk, ignored his glasses sliding down his nose until he came to the end of the line, then pushed them up as he swiveled halfway around to look at Natasha in the doorway of his basement study.

"Time to go?" he asked. They had a four-hour drive to the city ahead of them; no quinjets for civilians, he thought with only a touch of ruefulness.

Natasha smiled-a slight tug of the lips that threatened to make her face explode with a grin if she didn't restrain it. He recognized the look, because he felt the same one mirrored on his own face. Was she short of breath, too? Did her stomach flutter and her pulse race with mingled excitement and fear that after all they'd come through, something could still go wrong between Ithaca and New York City?

"Want to do one last check of the house?" she asked.

"Sure. Just let me finish this..."

The chair creaked as Bruce turned back to the desk, and the floorboards clicked beneath Natasha's heels as she came further into the study. She glanced down as she reached over him to straighten the picture that never hung quite straight.

"Letter to Susan?"

"A letter..."

Bruce darted his eyes up to see whether she looked bothered by the evasive answer, but she'd already turned away to check that his chemicals and lab equipment were safely stowed in locked cabinets. He scanned the letter, scribbled his signature, stuffed the folded stationery in an envelope and then in his breast pocket as he stood.

"Fiona wants to see the microscope," he said, when he saw Natasha adjusting its nylon cover.

"I remember."

She grinned at him across the room, and Bruce grinned back, certain now that the racing of his heart was purely due to excitement at the shared memory.

"You're a doctor?"the seven-year-old had asked when Bonita Juarez introduced him as Dr. Banner at St. Agnes Orphanage. Fiona thrust a protective arm in front of her not-quite five-year-old brother Flynn, but looking equally wary as she backed away, eyes narrowed. "Flynn doesn't like shots."

Bruce had found himself chuckling; of all the reasons kids had to be afraid of him, his title wasn't one that ever crossed his mind.

"Not that kind of doctor," he explained. "I'm a scientist."

Fear melted away like the snow, and Fiona bloomed, leaving Flynn's side to march up to Bruce. "With a real live microscope? If you adopt me, will you show me _bacteria_?"

The children had lost their father to Hell's Kitchen, their mother not long after to Terrigenesis. Afraid of hurting them, and of what might happen to them if she were picked up by the ATCU-or worse-she'd taken them to St. Agnes and disappeared. No one had heard from her since, and Flynn didn't remember her or their father or having a home anywhere other than the orphanage. They'd never even been in the foster system. Although he and his sister hadn't been exposed to the Terrigen, and potentially never would be, Inhuman genetics were a special need beyond even what the most open-hearted of adoptive parents were willing to take on.

"But two former superheroes?" Bonita had asked with a flicker in her eyes when she'd first presented Bruce and Natasha with the children's file.

They hadn't hesitated, hadn't needed to consult with each other. Just joined hands and said _yes._ Yes, they were willing to give these children a family…more than willing, they _wanted_ to be their family, even before they met Flynn and Fiona.

"I hope you're prepared never to use this for actual science ever again," Natasha said, indicating the microscope with a tilt of her head.

"Maybe we should've invested in a second one instead of some of that other stuff."

Like the new swing set in the back yard. When they went to the kitchen to double check the pantry and fridge were well-stocked with juice boxes and kid-friendly cereal and snacks, Bruce's gaze drifted out the window above the kitchen sink. They'd bought it from Costco and put it together themselves, with the help of their next door neighbor Mitch, a retired dentist who lived to show off his power tools and his sense of humor. Bruce and Natasha spent the better part of the previous Saturday holding back eye rolls at his repeated joke to every neighbor who happened past on the walking trail around the lake about helping the Avengers assemble. When Bruce told Tony, the closest he got to sympathy was, "Hm, well. That's what you get for not asking me to come engineer the project." If dumb jokes were the price of not having a Stark Industries playground monstrosity for the kids, Bruce and Natasha decided, they'd gotten a bargain.

Which was a good thing, since it seemed like they'd bought one of everything at Toys R Us repurposing the gym into a playroom. Natasha flicked on the light switch as they entered, and Bruce jolted at the sound system blaring a music box rendition of "The Itsy Bitsy Spider."

They look at each other and said in unison: "Tony."

The volume dropped a notch as the computerized baritone of Jeeves intoned, "Mr. Stark is on the line, madam, sir. Shall I tell him you're unavailable?"

"Put him through, Jeeves." Natasha barely waited for the visual of Tony to appear on the TV in the corner over a racecar track to let him have it. "Did you hack our sound system, Tony?"

"Is it technically hacking when I'm the one who installed it?"

"Yes," Bruce said.

Unoffended-and also unashamed-Tony's eyes darted around the playroom, taking inventory of every single toy, book, and board game. "Kids there yet?"

"Like we'd tell you," said Natasha. "You'll just crash the party."

"Hm. Probably a safe assumption. No, I know you're going to pick them up today."

"Because you hacked my planner?" Bruce said, and Tony grinned, held up his palms. Guilty as charged.

"By the time we get back," Natasha said, moving to the door, "'The Itsy Bitsy Spider' better not be programmed to play every time we come into the playroom."

"Black Sabbath it is!" Tony rubbed his hands together.

Darting an alarmed glance at Natasha, Bruce opened his mouth, but before he could get out a word of protest, Tony spoke again.

"Don't worry, guys. I read up on bringing home kids from an orphanage. It's very important to avoid startling or overwhelming stimuli in the new environment."

Of course he had. Bruce let out his breath, only for it to hitch again when Tony said, "I maybe would've showed a little more restraint with the toy buying, but that's me. Can I see their rooms?"

Against all good judgment, they transferred the video chat to a tablet and took him on a virtual tour. In the first room, Bruce did a slow pan with the tablet, grin stretching as he watched Tony goggle and blink at the combination of sparkly turquoise bedding, dinosaur throw pillows, Bruce's collection of old _Star Wars_ movie posters which now included ones from the new trilogy, and a glow-in-the-dark galaxy on the ceiling.

"Are the kids sharing this room?" Tony asked.

"No, this is just Fiona's."

"I just thought, you know, with the space and the dinosaurs…"

"What, girls can't like space and dinosaurs?" Natasha asked.

"She's a little…precocious," Bruce said, handing off the tablet to Natasha so she could give Tony a pointed look. "She hangs out with the big girls at St. Agnes. When we asked how she wanted her room decorated, she said, _My aesthetic is space princess dino chic._ "

"Her aesthetic lacks an interior decorator to pull that theme together," Tony replied, "but this kid sounds awesome. Much like that TIE Fighter desk over there."

He'd noticed it as Bruce laid the letter on it. When he turned back, he found Natasha watching him, her curiosity evident.

"We really have to go, Tony," she said.

"But I haven't seen Flynn's room!"

"It's _Cars_ -themed," Bruce said, "you won't like it."

"What do you mean, I won't like it? Cars are some of my favorite things in the world. Especially if they're Teslas and Audis."

"What about Lightning McQueen?"

Tony cringed. "Oh God. The anthropomorphic ones. Those are still a thing?"

"There are what, four movies now?" Bruce looked to Natasha. " Five?"

"I guess Larry the Cable Guy and Owen Wilson have to put food on the table somehow," Tony said. "Okay, hit the road, you two."

"Please don't send a decorator over while we're gone," said Natasha.

Tony sighed. "Okay, but only because you said the magic word. Seriously," he said, his expression softening to look it. "These are lucky kids. Can you adopt me, too?"

"We have talked about adopting a baby sometime," Natasha repled.

With a gasp of mock-outrage, Tony said, "Rude!" and ended the chat.

The bedroom felt oddly silent afterward, the tinny strains of "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" still faintly audible from down the hall. Natasha crossed the carpet soundlessly to join Bruce where he lingered by the desk. He watched her fingers slide across the glass surface to touch the envelope, tracing his curisve on the front: _Fiona and Flynn._ She looked up at him.

"The letter's for the kids."

Bruce swallowed, reached up and clutched the hair at the back of his head. "Yeah. I just…I want the kids to have…something tangible. So they'll know they're always wanted and never alone. That we've made it through really bad stuff, too, and life's better than we ever thought it could be. Because we found each other. And them." His fingers stilled as he met Natasha's eye. "Is that dumb?"

In answer, she gently pulled his hand from his hair, smoothed it back into place.

"You're a great dad already."

The warmth of her breath kissed him, followed by her lips as she leaned up to press them to his. It lasted only a moment before her smile broke free. She rocked back onto her heels and took his hand.

"Let's go get our kids."

 _The End_

 _ **A/N: And in the immortal words of the great Porky Pig, That's all, folks. Thank you so much for going on this journey with Bruce, Natasha, and me which, for the record, I don't think**_ **Captain America: Civil War** _ **ruled out at all. ;) Every like, follow, and comment of encouragement has meant a lot to me. Special thanks, again, to my awesome beta**_ **Malintzin** _ **, and to BruceNat writer extraordinare**_ **, Magical-Destiny** _ **, whose enthusiasm is the reason I even dared to tackle a story like this in the first place. I'm so glad I did!**_


End file.
